Dreams With Happy Endings
by TheWallFlowerGirl
Summary: When Peeta is in hiding by the river, someone else finds him before Katniss does. He is pulled into this stranger's ruthless world and into a whole new adventure. Peeta x Other Character *I've never done this before. This is my first FanFic. Please be kind* Please read and review! Rated M just in case, for violence anyway. I guess it could be rated T instead. Romance yes, smut no.
1. Chapter 1: In the Arena

**This is my first fanfic. Please read and review/comment! Thanks. I don't own anything, I haven't even read all the books yet so if it sounds like I'm repeating things from the novels, I don't mean to.**

Chapter 1

Laughter, loud and coarse up ahead. I crouched down, concealed by the brush. I was sure the feather tips of the arrows in my quiver could be seen, but they were not paying attention. I watched the group go by, counting, taking mental note. The tall blonde holding a sword – Cato I believe – led the way. A blonde girl and young dark haired boy followed. Cato turned to the girl, "No one gets away from me. When I get my hands on his scrawny neck . . ."

Gestures I couldn't quite make out from between the leaves. The girl started calling out unabashedly, mockingly, "Hey lover boy! Where's your girlfriend?"

Cato laughed, "She'll never be able to save you now! We're coming for you!"

_Lover boy? _My mind raced back to the bits of gossip I heard surrounding the current Hunger Games. A boy and girl from an outlying district were rumored to be in love. _Poor suckers._

The trio crashed through the underbrush. Holding my breath, I listened until their voices disappeared. I peered between the branches. No one was in sight. Cautiously, I raised my head, readying my bow and arrow. They were gone. And just my luck, in the opposite direction I needed to go.

The river was just a half mile away, and I needed to drink and refill my flask for the journey back. Already I had been gone too long and wouldn't make it back before dark. I would have to stop just on the other side of the barrier for the night. The journey had been worth it though. I thought of the leather satchel across my body, filled with the day's finds: some apples, rope, and an unclaimed canister of medicine. All in all a good day's hunting.

By the time I made it to the river, the sun was high. The water cut down on the humidity that choked the rest of the area. I removed my leather boots, letting my feet enjoy the coolness of the river and rocks. As I filled my canteen, I heard the faintest of noises from farther up the river. Quickly, I scrambled to put away the canteen and put on my boots. I took my bow, fitted an arrow, and cautiously crept upriver. A blood trail caught my eye; as I followed it, I wondered what I could take from this unfortunate loser of The Games. The trail ended farther up, where the rocks met the bank and became mossy and overgrown. I paused, listening. _It sounds like breathing_.

Another second later, I knew where it was coming from. I aimed the arrow at a patch of greenery on the ground to my right. I waited for a reaction.

An eye opened, bright blue. We stared at each other. Eventually my eyes could make out the rest of the face, then the body. Masculine lines, but cleverly and artfully concealed with paint, rock, and moss. The eye continued to stare, when he realized he did not recognize me from among the contestants.

"Who . . . who are you?" lips materialized, his voice cracked.

I ignored his question, still ready to fire my arrow. "How badly are you hurt?"

He considered the question for a few seconds, deciding whether or not he should answer. "My leg . . ."

I saw it twitch. Lowering my weapons, I kicked away the stuff on his leg, revealing a grossly bloody gash in his thigh. The blood was dark, sticky; it looked to be infected. I looked back at his face to confirm: feverish eyes, parched lips, shivering body. He wasn't going to make it. As soon as I made eye contact again, he knew. I raised my bow, aiming for his heart.

A faint flicker of fear. But then he said, "Do it" and closed his eyes. Defeated, resigned to his fate.

I hesitated. Poised, ready to put him out of his suffering. And still I hesitated. Slowly, I lowered the arrow. He opened his eyes, surprised as I reached into my pack, and pulled out the tin of medicine. I crouched down, felt for his hands, and placed the tin in them. I covered him back up in his disguise. As I stood to leave, I told him, "There is a cave to your right if you follow the water upstream about 20 feet. Go there. Hide."

He blinked. "I'm Peeta. Peeta Mellark. Who are you?"

I pursed my lips into a grim smile. "Nobody. I don't exist."

I continued my journey, leaving the river and heading back into the forest. About five minutes into my walk however, the mockingjays trilled. I frowned. I knew the birds well enough to know they knew when trouble was brewing. After studying them for all these years, I could even communicate with them a bit. I whistled my pattern, the one every jay in the district knew was from me. The answering call was one of alarm. It usually meant other people were close by.

But the call was coming from the river.

I thought of the boy I just met. _I should have just killed him myself to spare him the agony of what they will do to him_. Still, something in me was pushing me to go back and get him. Though I met him for all of two minutes, I knew a couple of things about him. He was smart. He was tenacious. And even though he knew he was more than likely going to die, either at my hands or Cato's, he was still brave to face it knowingly. He didn't beg for his life.

The mockingjays trilled out again, urgently this time. My determination to make it back alone wavered. I turned to the river, and silently ran back for the boy, Peeta.

As I neared the spot where I found him, I whispered his name. In the distance I could hear Cato's voice again. I whistled to the birds, and they sounded off the distance between Cato's party and me. 2 kilometers and closing.

"Peeta!" I whispered. Ahead of me, a hand shot out of the ground holding the medicine tin.

"I'm here." He called back.

I ran over and hushed him. I took the tin from him and put it back in my bag. After securing the bow over my shoulder, I bent over Peeta and began to uncover him. "Listen to me carefully. I am going to get you out of here. But you have to do exactly as I tell you. Can you stand up?"

We fumbled around, trying to get him on his feet. Once up, I could tell he was in really rough shape. Cargo pants and t-shirt were muddied and torn, body gaunt from lack of food. His face paled as he tried putting weight on his bad leg. The jays sounded off: 1 kilometer.

"Here." I put his arm across my shoulder. He leaned heavily on me. I played out the scenario in my mind as we hobbled through the shallow water: _he will slow us down. They will catch up with us. I cannot get to my arrows with him leaning on me. We are defenceless. He can't make it far. Why am I doing this? _

Still, we picked our way through the river. I tried not to let him stumble on stones on the river bed. It was painfully slow following the river, and Peeta knew it. "Faster to travel by land?" he huffed.

"Yes. But there are no camera's along the river."

"They put in . . . a tracking chip . . ."

"I know. Keep walking," was my grim reply. I wished he would stop talking, so I could hear the jays more clearly. The next whistle reported that Cato's team was falling behind. The whistle after sounded off a 3km distance between us. Soon there were no more alarm calls from the birds. _They must have thought we headed off into the forest to hide._

I forced Peeta to walk another hour or two before we stopped. I sat him on the shore and extended his legs into the river, washing out his wound. He bit his tongue to prevent him from crying out in pain as I scraped it clean. Bits of stone and moss flushed out. When I was finished, I told him the damage. "It looks like a clean cut down to the bone. Cato's sword?"

He nodded. I unscrewed the lid from the medicine and liberally applied half of it before wrapping it in a strip of cotton I took from a blanket back home. He winced, then tried to laugh, "Well, that's not so bad."

I looked at him, carefully surveying his reaction, "That's nothing compared to what I have to do next." Before he could do more than shoot me a quizzical look, I unsheathed a dagger from my belt. "Where did they put the tracker?"

Eyes wide with realization, he extended his right arm, and pointed to a faint mark underneath the mud. I took his arm and washed it off as best I could. "They're getting wiser, I'll give them that."

"What do you mean?"

"They used to put trackers in shoes or clothing. Smart now. Putting it in the contestants. Much harder to lose that way." I explained.

"Wait . . . what?" he asked as I walked away. I came back with a stick, about the size of a finger, and held it out to him.

"Put this between your teeth. And don't watch."

As he took it from me, he asked, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Rayne." The name sounded foreign even to my own lips. I felt like I was just saying words. "My name is Rayne. Now please don't move. Try not to make a sound. This is going to hurt."

Peeta put the piece of wood between his teeth, shut his eye tight and nodded. I made out where the tracker was, placing my thumb and finger at either end of it, gauging its size. With my right hand, I took the tip of my blade, and pressed deeply into his skin. It sliced through the layer of skin, but I had to go back and do it again to get through the thin layer of muscle that prevented me from pulling it out. I watched Peeta's face scrunch in pain, saw his teeth dig into the wood as he groaned, suppressing screams. Looking back, I could see a flash of silver amidst the blood that now flowed over his arm. As carefully as I could, I fished it out with the flat side of the blade. Once out, I lay it carefully on the rock next to me, and cleaned up Peeta's arm the best I could. Opening his eyes, he spat out the stick, sighing in relief. I put on the rest of the medicine from the tin and bound his arm with the remaining strip of cotton.

"Thanks Rayne. Now what?"

I picked up the tracker, walked up the sandbank. I felt around on my hands and knees for the perfect spot. Warmth was needed for this part, and the sand in the midday sun was hot enough. "Now we bury it."

"Why?"

I found the right spot: hot enough now, and out in the open so it would have the sun all day, not shaded by trees, and far enough away from the water so the sand would stay warm and dry. I dug a shallow pit, dropped the tracker in, and covered it over. "New feature of trackers the last few years. They detect body heat. If someone is in hiding, they know where you are, but they don't know if you are alive or not. Live bodies give off heat. Dead ones don't."

"So . . ."

"So we took it out of you. We can't take it with us, we have to leave it here. Can't toss it into the river. It's too cold. It would sense that you're dead, they shoot cannons, come to find the body, but we will still be here trying to hobble away. Then they catch us and we're both dead."

"The sand would keep it warm for most of the day."

"Giving us enough time to get out of here before they try to find your missing body." I glanced up at the sun. "I say we have until late tonight."

"Then what?"

"One thing at a time." I went over and helped him to his feet. "Now, we walk."


	2. Chapter 2: On the Other Side

**Thanks for reading! Please review and/or comment. Thanks**

Chapter 2

The journey was slow. Peeta hobbled along as best he could but he was weak from pain and lack of food. Not to mention the fever that was coursing through his body. As he leaned on me, I could feel the heat pouring off of him. Quite a few times we stopped to rest. Each time we did, I glanced up at the sun, gauging the time we had left, trying to determine the safest and most efficient way back to the barrier.

The sun was low on the horizon. There were only a few more hours of light left. I pressed on, at this point mostly carrying Peeta with me. With the heat from the sun gone, he started to shiver. "Please, we have to stop."

Ignoring him, I marched on. He repeated himself, but made no attempt to slow down. We carried on for another half hour, when suddenly he stumbled, catching me off guard. I barely kept us both on our feet, but at that point I knew he had to stop to rest. I helped ease him down on a rock; he sat unsteadily, head in his hands. His breath came in jagged rasps.

"Here." I passed him the flask of water which he drank half heartedly. While he drank, I looked at his leg. Blood was starting to seep through the medicinal barrier and the bandage, but I had nothing left to give him. Instead, I pulled out an apple and cut it up for him. He ate a few pieces then left the rest. I felt his forhead: he was burning up fast.

"Peeta, listen to me. We have to keep going. We are almost there and then I can give you the help you need. But you have to keep walking."

"I'm . . . I'm so tired."

"And so am I." I snapped at him, "Do you think it's easy carrying you around as dead weight? Try to at least help yourself."

"I'm doing the best I can," he shivered.

I felt a twinge of shame at the harshness of my words. I sighed and crouched down to his level. "Sorry. I'm not used to . . . talking. With other people." He nodded in response, so I continued, "Sit for a minute. But then we have to leave. And we have to hurry." I examined the landscape around us, looking for the trail I used to come in. "Another mile in the river, past that boulder over there, and then we cut through the forest for another few miles, and then we are out of here."

Peeta was quietly reflecting my words. "What do you mean? Out of here?"

"I'm taking you with me. Out of the arena."

A spark of hope revealed itself in his voice, "You mean . . . out of the Hunger Games?"

"Yes. Out of the Hunger Games."

He paused, took some deep breaths, then tried to stand. Before he fell over, I grabbed his arm and supported him. Despite the glazed look in his eyes from the fever, he seemed determined. "What are we waiting for?"

As we went on and the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, Peeta tried the odd time here and there to make conversation: if I thought people were following us, about mockingjays and rivers, something he wanted to eat called a crème cake. Eventually however, when the simple act of breathing became laborious for him, I put a stop to that.

"So who . . . exactly . . . are you?" he wheezed out.

I stopped to face him, and noticed his whole body heaving with the effort of drawing a breath. "You need to stop talking. It's taking too much out of you. Save your breath for walking. We're close now." _Its best you don't know about me. Not yet anyway. _

Peeta nodded and kept going.

Just as the sun was about to set completely and leave the world in the lingering dusk, we made it to the barrier. I sat him on a fallen tree, then turned and got on my hands and knees. I looked around for my marker: a blue bird feather stuck in the bark of an old log. When I found it, I pushed away the build up of dirt, twigs and leaves at the log's base. Once cleared away there was a hole, just big enough for a person to squeeze through. And from the other side, light came streaming into our darkness.

Quickly, I removed all my equipment and pushed it through to the other side. When I turned back to Peeta, I found him staring in amazement.

"What? What is that?" he asked.

"A hole in the ground. Under the arena's forcefield. That's how we get out." I eased him into a sitting position by the hole. "I'm going to go first. You come after me on your back, arms first, and I will help pull you through."

After much shuffling we both managed to make it through mostly unscathed. Peeta's leg wound opened up again when it scrapped against the tree. While he applied pressure to it, I refilled the hole. He gawked at the giant glowing blue dome of the arena, then at the sunlight filling the forested area we were in.

"Why is it daylight here?"

"The game-makers control time in the arena. They can shorten the days, but it adds up. Here in the real world, we have a couple more hours of daylight. You know what that means."

"Yeah yeah. More walking."

"I have a temporary camp set up two hours from here. Then we can stop for the night."

"Thank goodness." He muttered.

I swung my weapons and equipment back over my shoulders, then went to Peeta. As we journeyed on once again, he was quiet. I could not begin to guess at what he was thinking, but I imagined he was just trying to understand what just happened. It was especially difficult in his current state. By the time we made it to camp, his teeth were chattering from the chills.

The camp was simple enough, it had no need to be extravagant since it was temporary. Just a small, round clearing in a densely treed area of the forest. A small stone ringed fire pit and a couple leather satchels of supplies. From one of the satchels, I pulled out two blankets. One I spread on the ground before getting Peeta comfortable on it. The other I bundled him up in.

"Now you can rest."

He nodded and closed his eyes. I could see him shivering and chattering from the cold; I lit the fire, and once it was throwing off enough heat, I crawled over to Peeta. Lifting the blanket off his feet, I untied the laces on his soaking wet boots and pulled them off. His wet socks came off as well, and I covered his feet over with the blanket. The boots and sock I spread on the rocks around the fire to dry off. I did likewise with my own wet boots.

Though I searched through my supplies carefully, the only medicine I could find was a single white pill that I knew would help lower his fever. In a metal cup, I ground it to a powder with the butt end of my knife, then mashed some apple and poured water into it. I put it near the heat to warm up. While waiting, I ate an apple to satisfy the gnawing pit in my gut. There would be no real meals again until I got back home, and that was another day's journey.

I shook my head. I _don't know how we're going to do this. I don't even know if he'll last through the night._ I sighed. It was so cruel. To make it out of the Hunger Games only to die on the outside. It's ironic when you think about it. And I want to feel bad about it . . . but I don't. Not really. I'm sure he doesn't. It's his life; all his world knows is the cruel irony of the Hunger Games. A sad existence, but one we all live.

The tin of apple sauce started to steam. I pulled it away from the fire and found a spoon at the bottom of a bag. Going back over to Peeta, I curled up next to him. "Peeta. Sit up a bit."

A moan and he shuffled up to lean against the tree behind him. When his eyes opened, they were bloodshot, making the blue iris stand out hauntingly. He battled the exhaustion setting in just long enough to let me feed him the medicated sauce. Once finished, he sunk back down beneath the blanket.

Embarrassed by my lack of social skills, I fiddled with the blanket, attempting to tuck him in. "How do you feel?" the words came out clumsily, an expression of concern which lay unemployed for years.

Peeta, even in his delirious state, must have sensed my unease. He tried to smile, "my feet are dry, so pretty good." Just before I turned to stand, he reached out and touched my arm. I flinched. He did not seem to notice. "Thank you Rayne. For everything."

I nodded. Silence. He was still touching me. I cleared my throat, "Go to sleep." With that I stood, stoked the fire, and when I turned back, he was in a fitful stage of drifting off.

I gathered my bow and arrow, and then sat next to Peeta. I propped myself up against a tree, covered my legs with a bit of the blanket, and readied my weapon. It lay across my lap, all set to be used if something happened. I could feel sleep coming for me though. And for the few minutes I had before it claimed me for its own, I took in the world around me. The real world.

The real moon rose in the sky above me. Air characteristic of a summer night: cool and fresh. Crickets chirped, and the odd firefly glowed ominously from beyond our protective ring of trees. The fire crackled and spit, throwing off its deliciously drowsy heat. I closed my eyes and listened, waiting. Peeta's breaths finally became even and steady. The shivering stopped. He seemed to finally be able to actually relax. His body wasn't raging with the effects of a deadly fever, he ate and drank, and now was sleeping. And for the first time in weeks, he did not have to worry about watching over his shoulder, or sleep with one eye open.

That lot fell to me. He didn't even know me, but he was dependant on me. Well, for now at least. He has no idea who I am or what I've done in my life, and still he trusts me. Right now, he needed me.

My last thought before I fell asleep: _this will end poorly for both of us. I don't like it._


	3. Chapter 3: Histories and Truth

**I still don't own anything ;) Please read and review! Thanks!**

Chapter 3

The cannon sounding off woke me with a start. I shook my head, trying to gain my bearings as quickly as I could. Glowing coals were what remained of the fire. I glanced upwards, looking for the moon. It could only have been a few hours after midnight. The cannon boomed again and again, its sound reminding me of a hundred terrible things. Next to me, I felt Peeta jerk awake.

"What's that?" he scrambled frantically into a sitting position, wincing at the recurring pain in his leg and arm.

"The cannon."

"It's not . . . it's not for -"

"It's for you. Congratulations." I looked at his frantic face, "You're officially dead."

As I listened to the last few resounding thunders, I became uneasy. Nothing is wrong. They think he is dead. They will go out for the body, not find it, and think something dragged it off. No problem. Nevertheless, something did not sit well. After many uncomfortable minutes passed, I stood, fanned the coals for light, and began to pack up camp.

"What are you doing?"

In the glow of the dying coals, I could just make out the traces of fear on Peeta's face. "We're leaving. Get up." Before he had the chance to reply, I strode over, took the blanket off him and felt for his temperature. The fever was lower, but still there. The bandages on his leg and arm were soaked with darkened blood; I cut up the blanket, dressed his wounds with the clean sheets, and burned the bloodied ones. They were starting to heal, but needed to be looked after carefully.

"Leaving now?"

"Yes now." I filled the large satchel with everything I had brought, slung it over my shoulder along with my bow and quiver.

"But it's dark."

I held out my hand to him. Reluctantly, he took it and pulled himself up. "No it's not."

Just as we were leaving, I paused to snuff out the fire with some dirt. We were pitched into total darkness while our eyes tried to adjust to the little bit of light coming between the trees from the moon. "Now it's dark. So stick close."

I had always taken for granted that I knew the land like the back of my hand. I assumed that it would make our journey easier. I had thought wrong. Because no matter how hard I tried to steer Peeta along the easy paths, he always managed to trip over or walk into something.

"Try picking up your feet when you walk." I grunted as he tripped over another branch, nearly sending us both flying to the ground.

"Sorry." He muttered under his breath. Once he found his balance, we pressed on.

Just after sunrise, we crawled under the fence that marked the Capitol's boundary, and stopped for break. Peeta, sorely out of breath from trekking up the last hill, leaned against a maple trunk. Closing his eyes, he took in rough gulps of air, face scrunched in pain. I had noticed the change in the last bit; his fever was back with a vengeance. I took a sip of water, just enough to wet my parched throat, then passed it over to him.

"Drink the rest."

Once he drank his fill and caught his breath, he smirked, eyes glinting teasingly. "You look awful."

"What do you expect? I've been hauling your useless butt around for days," I shot back harshly. "Besides, you don't look so hot yourself. Now get up. Just down the valley there is a pond. I can get you something for your fever there."

Peeta was upset at my comment, and showed it by brooding silently to himself while we walked. Finally, he broke the silence by asking, "What's your problem?"

I shot him a look, and was about to ignore the question, when he continued, "Seriously, what is with you? First you want to kill me, then you save me, and now you're dragging me through this god forsaken forest to go . . . I don't even know where we're going. I want to know what is going on."

"If I had known you would talk so much I would have shot you on the spot."

"Then shoot me now because I am not going to stop until you tell me what is going on! At least give me some dignity by telling me . . . well anything at this point!"

"Right now," I ground my teeth, trying to stay calm, "I am taking you to get medicine. Then I am taking you to my home."

"Where is home for you? And who are you really? Some Capitol brat runaway – hey!" he exclaimed as I dumped him on the ground.

I turned on him, pulling an arrow out and aiming at his chest in a heartbeat. "Don't you dare call me that," I hissed. He backed up away from me, terror in his eyes as he realized I was ruthless enough to kill him, right then and there. "I want nothing to do with those people. I hate the Capitol. I hate the president. I hate the people. I hate everything it does and everything it stands for. Next time you refer me to anything to do with the Capitol. . . I will kill you. Make no mistake about that Peeta Mellark."

Shocked silence. Then he swallowed and nodded. My heart pounded in my ears, and I realized what I had almost done. Still flaming mad, I put away the arrow, and then pulled him back up to his feet. Leaning on me, he was so close I could feel his heart throbbing wildly. He held on to me warily. At that moment he made me feel more like an animal than a human, like he was afraid any wrong movement on his part would spring an outright attack.

We travelled in silence until we reached the pond. By then, I had enough time to cool off and was even feeling slightly apologetic. I sat Peeta down near the edge of the water. "Just give me one minute."

Not too far from where he sat was a willow tree. I took out my dagger, cut out a chunk of bark, then shaved off thin pieces of the flesh. They were cool and moist in my hands as I brought them back to Peeta. I held one out to him. "Here. Chew on this."

"What is it?" He asked, taking it from me and tentatively smelling it.

"Willow Tree. The layer just under the bark. It will make your fever go away and bring down the swelling in your leg. Start chewing."

He regarded me suspiciously, an animal he wasn't sure if he could trust, but obligingly started to chew. "This tastes disgusting," he teased, making a face from the bitter, dirty flavour.

"Here." I tossed him an apple, "wash it down with this."

My own stomach rumbled hungrily as I devoured the last apple, seeds and all. While Peeta continued to eat, I lay on my back in the shade, enjoying the break. My body ached from the journey, it being more strenuous than I originally anticipated. I had not really eaten anything but apples for the last couple days, and it was taking its toll on me. I had not bathed in days either, and the water was tempting, all glittering in the sunlight, warmed from the summer heat.

I stood and went over to Peeta. His body was succumbing to the temptation of rest now that we had stopped. The apple was gone, and he was chewing the third piece of bark. He blinked sleepily at me.

"Take a nap. But before you do let me wash you up." I took out a strip of fabric and filled my flask with clean water. Wetting the cloth, I wiped the remaining dirt and blood from his face and hair. He cringed at my touch, as I remembered I had not exactly been the kindest to him. "I didn't realize you were blonde." My lame attempt at humor, to lighten the mood.

He smirked, relaxed a bit under my touch. "Blonde hair, blue eyes . . . I should be a poster boy for something."

I poured more water on the cloth, and then worked at his arms. "You were. The 74th annual Hunger Games." I glanced up to watch his reaction.

A nerve was struck. He clenched his jaw, I could see the muscle flexing as he tried to keep emotions in check. "I thought we weren't going to talk about it."

Our eyes locked in a steady gaze. "Sorry. I forgot." I went back to cleaning him up. Unwrapping the bandage around his thigh, I examined it closely in the daylight.

"What's the diagnosis doctor?"

It was pretty bad still. An infection was starting to form. It was angry looking and hot to the touch. Hopefully the willow bark would kick in soon. I glanced up at him, lied straight to his face, "It's looking better."

He cocked his head to one side, examining me coolly. "You're a terrible liar."

"I know." I stood. "We can stop for a bit here. I'm going to wash up. Get some sleep."

By the bank of the pond, I scrubbed out the cloth as best I could. When I looked back at Peeta, he was sound asleep. I undressed quickly, just leaving on my undergarments, and dove into the water. Refreshing and cool, the water fairly melted away my stress and pain along with the grime of the last few days. I felt free and calm. For the moment, nothing in the world existed. I let my guard down for just a few moments more, then scrubbed myself clean. Once finished, I got out and lay on the sweet grass, sunning myself dry.

I did not have the luxury of being able to doze off like Peeta, but being able to rest my eyes for an hour was enough. I redressed, then went to Peeta.

"How do you feel now?" I asked softly. He stirred awake, squinting in the bright sunlight.

"Better."

I felt his face; the fever was gone. "Well you should be rested enough to make the journey. We will be there before the sun sets."

Once up and walking, it was clear that Peeta was still annoyed about my previous outburst. He refused to start a conversation. After an hour of silence, I felt the best way to apologize was to get him talking.

"How old are you?"

He looked at me in surprise, but answered automatically. "I'll be 17 in the fall."

"You seem older." Silence. "What district are you from?"

"District 12."

"That's coal mining, right?"

"Yeah. Although I didn't do mining. My family owns a bakery."

"So you're pretty well off."

He gave me a funny look. "I guess. Not that anyone in District 12 is really well off. We did not have much more than anyone else."

I nodded, thinking. "Lover boy?"

"What?"

"In the arena, before I found you, some Careers were looking for. . . well I guess they were looking for you. One of them called you 'lover boy'. I heard that there was a set of 'star crossed lovers' this year. That's you?" Peeta blushed and nodded, but didn't offer anything on his own. I asked, "What happened? Who was it?"

He sighed, thinking, then replied, "I was sent here with a girl from my district. Katniss Everdeen. I've . . . I've liked her for as long as I can remember. I was protecting her. That's how I got into this whole mess."

"What's she like?"

"Independent. Stubborn. She's the best hunter I know. You remind me of her." I didn't know what to say to that, so he continued, "If anyone can win the Hunger Games this year, it's going to be her."

"So much for being star crossed lovers."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how that story ends?" he shook his head. "They both die. You're not dead. She sounds like she'll make it. You're not really star crossed."

"Thank goodness for that."

"Why were the Careers looking for you?"

"I tricked them. I was trying to protect Katniss from them. They found out and weren't too happy. Cato – the boy from District 2 – attacked me. Hence the gaping wound in my thigh. I managed to get away and hide. They were looking to finish me off I guess. But you found me instead." He paused for a brief moment, then cautiously asked, "What . . . what were you doing there in the arena?"

Now it was my turn to be suspicious. I had to be careful, how much and what I told him. But I had the feeling he wasn't going to stop until he got the truth. _Here goes nothing._ "I was scavenging."

"Ok but how did you get in? I mean, I know _how_ you got in the arena. But how did you know . . ."

"I've done it before. Quite a number of times. Every year actually."

He just blinked, confused. "Who are you really?"

"Rayne."

"Rayne . . ."

"Just Rayne."

"And which district did you say you were from?"

_Oh boy, here we go. _"I didn't say."

"Rayne, come on. Which district are you from?"

"I'm not from any district."

Peeta stopped walking. "Say that again?"

"I'm not from any district."

"Wait . . ." the gears were turning, "That means you're . . ." the light came on, "You're one of the Districtless?"

I nodded. A new look of alarm filled his eyes. I sighed impatiently, "Let me guess, you're mother told you bed time stories about the Districtless? Stories where we carted away children in the night from their beds and used them for hunting practise? In school they taught you that because we refused to be controlled by the Capitol we were, ourselves, a lawless race? One that pillaged and murdered innocent people with reckless abandon? Did they say we were Muttations gone rogue? Did they say we were dangerous?" at this point, Peeta had backed away from me, and was pressing himself flat against a tree. An amused smile tugged the corners of my lips; I went close to him, whispered in his ear, "Did they call us savages?"

"They said the Disrictless were wiped out. They weren't going to stop until they destroyed every last one of you."

"I am the last one!" I snapped, drawing up as tall as I could. "And they haven't stopped. They told you we were gone to make you feel safer, to make you feel like you could trust the Capitol. But I am still alive. And I would like to keep it that way. If you want to know what really happened in history, don't trust your teachers. There are always two sides to the coin."

"The mayor in my district . . ." Peeta started.

Curiosity got the better of me. "What happened?"

Peeta cleared his throat nervously. "When I was ten or eleven, the mayor in my district picked up an Avox servant. They said she was a Districtless." I took a step closer to him, demanded to know more. He continued, "I don't know how long she was captive for. But after three days in our District, she killed herself." He glanced at me, to see my reaction.

I simply nodded, but deep down, I felt the heartache starting to rise. "The Capitol is smart. They don't want our blood on their hands. They would rather we do it ourselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Three days – our mourning period." I shook my head. I had never had to explain this to someone before. "We were all taught that if we got caught, it would be more honorable to commit suicide than die at the hands of the Capitol. It's the last thing we could control, to die as our selves. To prove to the world that nobody could ever own us." Surprisingly, Peeta's face softened. That fearful look was replaced with one of sympathy. He nodded understandingly, so I continued, "But we have to wait three days. Each day is a mourning period for one of the three things we hold highest above all. The loss of our home, the loss of our family, and the loss of our freedom."

"You don't mourn the coming loss of your own life?"

I shook my head. "What good would that do? Why would I be sorry to lose a life I can no longer claim as my own?"

"But what about you? How did you survive?"

With those words my guard came back up. I had said too much already. I bristled at the question, "That is for a different day."


	4. Chapter 4: Home

**Sorry if it seems slow right now. Don't worry, it will pick up eventually. Please read and review! Thank you!**

Chapter 4

After our discussion, we pressed on. Peeta was quiet, reflecting on what he just learned. I was grateful for the silence. But something had changed.

Peeta was smart; he was quick and deliberate in his thoughts. This side of him made him untrusting of me, which was natural. I was a stranger and one of the Districtless. He had learned about us: we were dangerous, reckless, survive at any cost; we were short tempered and vicious; we were uncontrollable and without law; we were a threat to every civilised person. From the way he watched me, I knew he put everything together. I knew my own actions had confirmed at least some of it. I was rude, impetuous, tenacious; I knew how to use my weapons and think fast. And my whole life revolved around one word: survive.

There was another side to Peeta though. This one shone through brighter than his rational side. He seemed to be an emotional person, one with great depth and range of feeling. Intuitive. This part of him impelled him to trust me. He knew that, although I had difficulty showing it, I had pity and compassion. I wanted to save him, to help him. Because I had saved his life he felt compelled to stay. And when I spoke of my people's history, his attitude became forgiving, kind, patient.

With these warring fronts, it was clear he was at a stalemate. His intelligence tempered his emotions. For the moment, he would trust me more than logic advised him to. What else could he do?

Just before sunset, we made it home. "We're here."

Peeta looked around, confused. "There's nothing here but a shack."

At first glance, he was right. In front of us was a grassy rise, surrounded by trees. A run down wooden structure was at the base of the rise.

"That's the outhouse."

In the background was the sound of running water; a nearby pond was fed by a river that wound it's way throughout the forest, connecting to other larger lakes and rivers. But when I led him around the rise, everything was different.

"There is a house in that hill." He said in awe.

Facing the front of the rise, there was a door and a large window on either side. It was built into the grass and dirt, making a cozy, cleverly concealed home. The ground there was level for a hundred feet before going up in another, higher hill, creating a small valley where I grew plants for food. A small patch of corn grew high and green, silky tassels just starting to form, and dozens of other patches of vegetables grew around it. An apple tree was on the opposite side, still young, but bearing a few small green unripe apples. And closer to the pond was an herb garden, for my medicinal herbs.

"Welcome to my home," I opened the heavy wood door and guided him in. "Please excuse the state. I don't get visitors."

Inside there was enough height for us to stand. Sunlight poured in the windows, lit up the one room. At the far end across from the front door was the fire pit. A hole in the roof directly above served as the chimney; a loosely woven grass mat protected the chimney hole above from the elements. To the right near the fire was a bed: a mattress made by stuffing two blankets full of sweet dried grass then sewing them shut. Closer to the door I had a sheet of fabric strung up around a human sized tub, as a makeshift bathing area. In the middle of the room was a roughly hewn table with stumps as seats. And to the left were shelves and counters packed full with bowls of food, jars of dried herbs, utensils and beaten up cookware, baskets of clothes and blankets, and books. Along the wall in the corner were all the weapons I had collected over the years: bows, arrows, hunting knives, daggers, spears, axes.

Peeta just stood in the doorway blinking. "You live here?"

"Yes."

He looked around, taking it all in. "You did all this?"

"Yes."

Nodding, he offered no resistance as I brought him over to the bed and lay him down on it. I went over to the shelves, fished through jars until I found one filled with willow bark. I pulled out a piece. "Here, chew this while I get everything ready."

I dumped all the goods and weapons I had been carrying on the floor by the door, trading them for an axe. "Stay here," I told him, before going out to chop wood for the fire. Once enough wood was cut and the fire was lit, I filled a cast iron kettle with water, set it over the fire, and went back out to the herb garden. It had begun to run wild in the short time I was gone. I had to search carefully for the short bushy plant with small bell shaped purple flowers. I felt the leaves, nodding to myself at the familiar texture and shape, then plucked a few handfuls worth.

I took these inside the house, rinsed them off with the remaining water in a bucket and placed them in a deeply grooved stone. At this point the kettle was hot. With a towel I removed it, poured the steaming water into a bowl and took it, the towel, and a small nub of soap over to Peeta. I placed it in front of him and waited. He looked at me expectantly, so I asked, "You know how to wash yourself right?"

"Well it's been a while but yeah, I think I remember."

"Good. Get started." I had strung up a sheet around the bed for privacy a long time ago. This was the first time I used it. I pulled it around the bed, leaving just the shadow of Peeta to be seen. "I'm going to try to find you some clothes. Toss the dirty ones on the floor."

I rummaged through some satchels that hung from the ceiling, looking for something he could wear. _Now I know I have men's clothes . . . I took it off last year's tribute . . . _dark green cargo pants and a black t-shirt. Standard Tribute wear. I was about to hand it to him, when I realized he had to have something shorter for pants if I was going to be able to dress the wound on his leg. Another minute of rummaging revealed a dark pair of boxer shorts. I chuckled to myself as I thought about the time I raided a farmer's laundry for anything I could grab. Of all the things, this is what I snatched. _But you keep everything you take, just in case._

I placed the shorts and shirt by the curtain, then did a run to the lake for more water. I returned with two buckets full, put on another kettle, and went to Peeta. The smell of steam and soap filled the air. I scratched my head, eager for my own bath at the end of the day.

"Almost done?"

"Yeah I'm done. You can come in now."

Pulling aside the curtain, a fresh faced Peeta lay sprawled on my bed, content with being clean, clothed, and safe. His ashen hair was damp and fell finely across his forehead. "Well, how do I look?"

"Clean." I took the bowl of dirty water and dumped it outside before coming back and refilling it with fresh, hot water. I washed my hands and arms in it with soap, dumped it, and filled it again. Finally I got a new cloth and soap and sat down next to Peeta. I crossed my legs, tried to get comfortable.

"This is going to sting. A lot." I dampened and soaped up the cloth. He rolled up the leg of his new boxers, revealing the angry red infected laceration. Lying back with his arms behind his head, he nodded his readiness and closed his eyes. As soon as the soap and water made contact with the raw flesh, he bit his lip and grimaced. Soon it started to bleed again; he gripped the bed tightly from the pain. Once I finished it and his arm, and both looked as hygienic as they were going to get, I went over to the leaves in the stone. With a smooth rounded rock, I mashed the leaves into a thick, bitter scented paste.

"What's that?" he asked as I carried it and some clean bandages to him.

"Comfrey." I layered the poultice between thin bandages, packed it into his wound, then used another bandage wrapped around his leg to hold it in place. I repeated the steps for the cut on his arm. "It will fight the infection and speed the healing."

"Look at you. Hunter, farmer, healer. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Be socially adept." I called over my shoulder as I dumped the water outside. I picked up my arrow and bow from the front door. "I'm going to get dinner. Try to sleep."

"Ok. Hey! Can you get a roast dinner with the vegetables and the bread? Oh and see if you can pick up some of those crème cakes!" he laughed in good humor as I shut the door behind me.

As I stalked the forest, I mulled over Peeta's attitude. At how he could be so casual about his situation. In pain, starving, facing the real possibility of death from infection, at the mercy of a stranger, in the middle of the wilderness. Two days ago he was prepared to die, resigned to his fate. And now he laughed and teased.

It still bothered me when I returned, partridge in hand. Outside the house, I cleaned the bird, cut it in pieces, and put it in a pot. Inside, I filled the pot with water, added dried spices, and set it over the fire which I had to stoke. Peeta woke with a start at the sound of the door opening.

"You scared me." He yawned, "I forgot where I was."

"Don't worry. You're safe here. How's the fever?"

"Gone," he smiled, "that tree bark seems to work pretty well. What's for dinner?"

"Soup."

"Sounds great. Anything I can do to help? Like set the table or wash dishes?"

"Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Teasing and laughing."

At that he became serious and sat upright. "I try to be."

"Why?"

"A good sense of humor gets me through tough times. It always has. It's something I learned a long time ago."

"But it doesn't serve a useful purpose." I protested, "It won't help you find food or shelter. It won't save you when you're at the mercy of someone else."

"It's a coping mechanism. You can't take everything in life seriously all the time." a glimmer of realization crossed his face. Gently, he remarked, "You've always had to, haven't you?"

I stiffened at the comment. "I've had no choice. If I were more like you, I'd be dead." I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. Sighing, I rubbed my temple, "Sorry. That's not how I meant it."

"No no, it's true," he said flatly, "I was as good as dead when you found me. My sense of humor wouldn't have saved me. Maybe you're right."

"That's not what I meant." I could not tell if he was mocking me or not, but I felt I had to try to explain myself. "Things are different for each of us. You at least had the luxury of living in a real house, going to school, being with your family your whole life. Having a childhood. You can afford to joke and tease and laugh. It puts people at ease. You have a likeable personality because of it. I never had any of those things. Everything I have ever known . . . I've always had to be on guard. I have to take things seriously, because I have never had room for error. Out here, one mistake can cost you your life. And if you had seen the things I've seen," I shut my eyes and sighed. When I opened them again, he was looking at me expectantly. "The world has shaped us into very different people. It's going to take time for us to accept our differences. Especially when you're so easy going, charismatic, and I'm . . ."

"Rough around the edges?"

"Unpleasant. People have been afraid of me for so long, I don't even know how to change that."

I got up to stir the soup. It boiled away, deliciously steamy. My mouth watered at the thought of a real meal. From a basket I pulled out a few small potatoes, earthy in my hands. Those I buried in the ashes and coal, they would quickly roast in the heart of the fire.

"Rayne . . ."

When I went over, he asked, "How long have you been here?"

"Two years." I knew what he actually meant, but did not offer to divulge more information. He sensed the wall going up and did not press any further.

"That soup smell great." He said after an uncomfortable silence.

"It's almost ready." I got two bowls ready and fished out the potatoes with a stick. I mashed them in the bottom of the bowls, hot streams of steam escaping, and then ladled the bubbling broth over top. Golden blobs of fat skimmed the surface and shreds of delicate partridge sunk to the bottom.

"Here." I handed him a bowl and spoon before sitting next to him. "Try to eat slowly."

He eyed the food hungrily; I noticed how thin he was. Even since I had pulled him out of the arena he had lost weight. His face was sunken, the clothes I gave him were huge on him, ribs and collar bone protruded sharply. His stocky build, without the muscle and weight, made him seem disproportionate.

Gradually he sipped the broth and ate the meat and potato. At the end of the meal, his body satisfied, sleep overtook him. He yawned, eyelids heavy and drooping. I took the bowl from him and washed it. When I looked back, he was starting to doze off.

Afraid the fever would come back in the night, I pulled down a pelt blanket, the various animal skins sewn together to form a patchwork pattern. Furs lined both sides, trapping the heat well. I threw it over him. As he nestled down, he took a deep relaxed breath. "Thank you."

Though he could not see me, I nodded. "Now you can sleep soundly."

I poured myself a bath, drawing the thick curtain around me. As I soaked in the hot water, I could hear Peeta's rhythmic breathing, no longer raspy with fever and pain. It calmed me down, unwinding my busy mind. I scrubbed the many days' dirt from me, enjoying the simple pleasure of being clean. After drying myself and changing into clean clothes, I looked at my reflection in the glass window pane. I was surprised to see how thin I had become over the last few days. Long, fine dark chocolate hair; the few short tendrils which framed my face clung damply to high jutting cheek bones sprinkled across with freckles. Dark eyes, plain features, I never was considered very pretty. I sighed, took my thoughts to the table.

Rough around the edges: Peeta used that to describe my personality. I applied it to my physical appearance. And to my demeanor. I was coarse and unrefined. I had never had to be anything else. I stared out the window into the darkened forest. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed me. Exhausted from conversation, from silent meditations, from carrying Peeta around.

I glanced at Peeta, resting easy, deep in sleep. Wondered what on earth I was thinking when I took him with me. I crossed my arms on the table, lay my head down on them, and fell, for the first time, into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Coping Mechanisms

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Chapter 5

It was the middle of the day when I woke. At first, I did not know where I was, but the stiff ache in my neck as I raised my head off the table jogged my memory. Groggily, I rubbed my neck and stretched, working out the tension in my upper body. I glanced at the bed; Peeta still lay in a deep sleep. _If anyone needs this rest, it's him._

After much debating, of whether I should go back to sleep myself or not, I got up and went out. My garden wilted in the heat, having not been watered in days. While I gathered berries and more comfrey, I made a mental checklist of things I had to catch up on. If I neglected any of my gardens for much longer, there would not be enough food this winter for the two of us.

I left the door open when I returned to the house, to let the fresh air in. the change in temperature, as well as the noise I made trying to make lunch, woke Peeta. Panic crossed his face, and he thrashed under the furs.

"What? Where am I? Who –" he caught sight of me and froze.

"Peeta. It's okay. You're fine." Slowly, I put down the pot I was holding, held my empty hands out. As I crept over to him, I spoke soothingly, "Peeta, it's me. You're safe. You're okay. You don't need to be scared. Remember what happened."

By the time I was crouched next to him, he remembered the events of the last few days. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Sorry Rayne. I panicked."

"I know, and that's okay," I continued to speak softly, as if to a frightened and hurt animal. _Something I have a lot more practise doing. _"How do you feel today Peeta?"

"Much better. I think my fever is gone for good now."

I pulled the blanket off him and undid his bandage. He unwrapped the one on his arm, removed the poultice.

"My arm's looking pretty good."

"And so is your leg." I said, my fears alleviated. His leg was clean and starting to close up. "I think I might have a canister of that miracle medicine somewhere here." I went back to the shelves and rummaged around. Eventually, I found a small tin of it. I applied what was left of it, then made another comfrey compress and put that on his arm.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"About midday," I replied while washing my hands. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

I opened a jar of dried oats and put a handful in a pot of water over the fire. "They oatmeal is going to be kind of thin. I'm running low. Got to stretch it as far as I can."

"I'm making everything harder for you, aren't I?"

"We'll manage." Though in truth, he was right. This was going to be a big adjustment. And it would take a huge toll on my supplies.

"Well if it helps, I won't stay long. As soon as I can walk again I will get out of your hair. I mean it will probably take me a couple months. Then I can make my way back home."

Lips pursed, I simply nodded. He had no idea. I did not make an issue out of it. Not yet anyway. Instead I changed the subject, "How did you sleep?"

"It was great. It was nice to be able to sleep so deeply there was no room for dreams. This bed is a nice change after sleeping on the rocks. Wait . . ." after glancing around the room, he asked, "Where did you sleep?"

I gestured to the table. He groaned, "I'm so sorry Rayne. You should have kicked me out of your bed. I could have slept there instead."

"No. You're the one who is not well. You get the bed. Although tonight, move over so I can have half."

"Yeah I was sprawled out in the middle wasn't I?"

"Yes you were." I dished out the watery oatmeal, sprinkling early summer strawberries on top. "Don't eat too fast."

Once fed he dozed on and off while I went out and tidied things up. After hours of watering, weeding, and pruning, I went back in to check on Peeta. He was awake and struggling to get up. When he saw me, he grinned sheepishly. "Could you help me up?"

I got him up and helped him outside, where he sat on a stump by the door. "Listen," I started, "I'm going to go fishing for dinner. Stay here."

"Where else would I go?" he called after me into the house. I grabbed a basket, knife, and makeshift fishing rod, then headed off to the pond.

"If you get into trouble, whistle three times." I told him. "Mockingjays will carry the message."

The call never came, and when I came back, Peeta was still on the stump, resting. I walked right up to him and touched his shoulder. He jumped, nearly fell from his seat.

"You scared me. I didn't even hear you coming."

"That's the way it should be. Always move through the forest silently. Coming back in?"

"No not yet. I'm enjoying being outside and not fearing for my life."

"I'm going to clean the fish out here." I informed him. He nodded; I got to work on the two fish I managed to catch. "Fish and burdock stew sound good?"

"At this point I will eat almost anything," he grinned.

"I know it's not district quality."

Peeta grew somber. "You have no idea what life is like in my district."

"You want to compare life's difficulties with me?" I snapped before going inside to finish cooking.

"No. but I want you to understand. I'm not some spoiled kid from a privileged district." After a moment of struggle, he stood and hobbled after me into the house. He sat at the table and explained, "District 12 is the poorest district. Most live in poverty and die of starvation. There are mining accidents, leaving families torn apart. . ." his voice drifted off, lost in some far off place and time.

"You're thinking of that girl, Katniss?"

"She lost her father. All she had left was her mother and sister. They lived in the Seam. They had it hard."

"What about you? You said your family owned a bakery. You were merchants."

Peeta snorted in derision. "Like I said before, we weren't much better off. Everything was still falling apart, dirty from coal – everything in the district is always covered in coal dust. There was never enough food to go around in my family."

"You owned a bakery, why not eat what you made?" I asked, confused.

"We couldn't." he shrugged, "My mother . . . she had very strict rules about the business. Everything that could be sold for money had to be. There was no place for charity cases." Suddenly he chuckled, voice bitter, "there is no room for mistakes in your world. There is no room for mistakes in mine either."

"I don't understand."

Peeta struggled to find the right words. Clearly this was something he never talked about. "My mother was known as the 'District Witch'. She would beat me. For anything I did wrong, even something accidental. And my brothers too. We weren't a close family. We weren't really happy."

I was shocked. So much so, I sat across from him. I could not comprehend what he was saying. I thought back to my own brief childhood, tried to recall memories of my parents. Though I could not remember their faces, I remember feeling safe, secure, loved by them. The Districtless were always well known for the love they had for their children, for never hitting them, or even raising their voices in anger. This knowledge, that there were people who beat their children, was foreign to me.

Peeta could tell it did not sit well with me, but did not know what else to say. He tried to laugh it off, "I mean, my dad was kind to us so it evened out in the end. And I guess it's nothing compared to what you went through. My life's not a sob story."

"I don't want your pity." I spat back at him. "Acceptance of another's pity is a sign of weakness."

"Is that part of the Districtless Code of Life?"

"No. it's something life taught me. And this life is a callous teacher." I left the table in a fit of indignation at the course our conversation was heading. I dished out the hot stew, roughly dropped it on the table in front of him. "It's ready."

The first part of the meal was carried on in silence. After a while however, I could feel Peeta's eyes on me. "What?"

He shook his head, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Haven't you learned enough already?"

"Only enough to know that if I stay with you I will be safe from pretty much anything out there. But I'm not sure how safe I should feel _with_ you."

"Still not sure if you should trust me or not?"

He shook his head, "No not really. I just want to know what makes you tick. You know that humor is my coping mechanism –"

"And apparently so is incessant talking."

Peeta ignored me and continued, "You're harder to figure out. From what I can tell, when you're faced with a touchy subject you like to dance around it. And when you face a dangerous situation, you run."

"I'm not a coward!" I shouted. "I don't skirt around problems, I chose to make them non-issues. And when in danger, there are only two options: flight or fight. Once one is no longer viable, I take the other. You want to know what makes me tick Peeta? You want to know how I cope?"

"Yes, yes I do." He replied stubbornly. He was figuring me out, and fast. He knew that if he stood his ground and not let go, then I would stay and fight.

"I put as much distance as I can between me and whatever it is I'm facing." I gestured, wild with agitation, "Don't think you know me so well Peeta. There was a time when I would have welcomed you freely and warmly. But that was a different life. That time is dead and buried. Now all you have left to contend with are walls, rebuilt with each passing day into something harder and stronger. This is what my life has shaped me into!"

Before Peeta could protest, I cut him off. "This is what I am now. Something barely human, according to your people. A vicious wild animal bent on surviving by any means possible. Something always just out of reach and unbreakable. A stone heart that beats without any shred of humanity." I leaned forward, looking him in the eye, "What do you think of me now?"

"I don't believe it."

I blinked, taken aback by his response. "What?"

"I don't believe it." He repeated calmly. "Not that last bit anyway. You have kindness and mercy in you somewhere. It may be buried underneath mountains, but it's in there."

"How do you know?" I snarled, voice dripping with cynicism.

"You're helping me. You've been kind to me in your own way. I appreciate everything you've done for me. Rayne," he reached out across the table and touched my hand in compassion, "you saved me."

Before his words and touch could have any real effect in melting my harsh exterior, I snatched my hand away. "And that's as much as my benevolence allows me to do. Don't expect anything more."

He looked hurt by my reaction, pulled back. "I won't," his voice now edged with the coldness of steel. "Like I said before, I won't infringe on your hospitality for longer than necessary."

He went back to eating, his actions mechanical. I watched him, debating whether or not to address the issue he raised. But my heart hardened against him for the moment, and I did what he said I do best: distanced myself from the affair.


	6. Chapter 6: A Trip to District 7

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Chapter 6

The week continued on, following a similar pattern to the one set on the first day. Peeta continued to rest, often sleeping late into the day. His wounds were healing steadily, and he continued to gain weight, losing that malnourished glaze in his eyes. But he was careful around me now, not asking more than he thought he should and saying little in general. I wanted to have him at a distance and he made sure he stayed away.

After a few days, life found a new rhythm for me. I tended the garden, hunted and scavenged, cooked, and minded Peeta. I made and set new snares, fashioned more arrows, sharpened and cleaned blades. In what little free time I had, I carved wood or read books. Two weeks passed by this way. One afternoon Peeta joined me outside. I looked up at him from the wood I was whittling; he limped awkwardly and sat nearby.

We sat in silence for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked what I was working on. "You've been at it for days," he added.

"Actually . . . it's for you." I blew away the last few shavings and held it out to him. A sign of haughty penitence.

"A cane?" he took it from me, examined it closely.

"I thought it might help you get around. For now."

"Thanks. It's nice. What's the design in the handle?"

"A mockingjay." I felt absolutely ridiculous. In an attempt to regain my composure, I spoke out curtly, "Start practising. Because tomorrow I'm leaving for a few days."

All I received was a look of surprise. "Leaving? But . . . what . . ."

"District 7 is just a day's walk from here. I trade at their Hob. We're going to need extra supplies. And if you're going to stick around, then maybe some extra clothes."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Live." I shrugged, indifferent, "That's what the cane is for. So you can get around. I'll show you where everything is."

"But it's dangerous," he protested, "What if something happens?"

"To you? Then stay indoors. You should be safe enough here."

"Not to me. What if something happens to you?"

Annoyance over his question melted away. I gave him a brash smirk, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

A sigh escaped him; he knew it was no use arguing with me over it. "When will you go?"

"Sunrise. Now come on. I'll show you where the food is."

After showing him where the dried fruits, grains, and meats were stored, I told him what he might want to cook with them. While he made himself familiar with the kitchen, I went to the river and hauled in enough water to fill the two barrels outside the door. I set some snares over the top of the hill, explained to Peeta to check them for game so he could have real food while I was gone. We ate a quick supper, and while Peeta practised with his new cane around the house, I readied my bag for the journey in the morning, filling it with the things I was going to trade. A few animal pelts, a deer hide, dried herbs for medicine. The real commodities I would gather just at District 7's boundary: game meat.

"How long will you be gone for?" Peeta asked. He was already lying in bed, yawning drowsily.

"Three days. A day to get there, a day to hunt and trade, and a day back." I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off my boots, and stretched out on my half of the bed. "I will be gone by the time you wake up. So . . ."

"Goodnight and goodbye?"

"Night." I turned away from him onto my side. I watched the coals in the hearth burn themselves out to nothing, leaving me awake in the dark. Peeta fidgeted and turned twice, trying to get comfortable. And long after he was asleep, my mind stayed alert and busy.

The first few nights after we arrived were blissful. Deep, dreamless sleep welcomed me for three nights. But after that, the nightmares came back. To try to cope, my brain refused to shut off, and instead, played them out while I was awake. I let them, watching visions swirl themselves together in front of my eyes, in hopes that they would not haunt me in my dreams at night. No matter how hard I tried, however, I could not stop them from infiltrating and shattering my sleep.

Tonight was no different. After reliving the horror with my eyes opened, it toyed with me in my sleep. Late in the night, I woke wide-eyed, sharply gasping for breath. My body could not stop shaking, and I was covered in a cold sweat. Beside me, Peeta stirred, turned over, snoring softly for a minute. I concentrated on feeling the heat radiate off his body. Tentatively, I reached out in the dark and let my fingers graze his shoulder. His arm twitched, I withdrew. But that brief moment of contact, his solid build under my touch, it was like an anchor. I stopped trembling. It calmed me enough to let me catch a few restless hours of sleep before the nightmares came back.

When I jolted awake the second time, it was almost light. I got out of bed and changed as quickly as I could, knowing that the movements of life would disperse the gruesome portraits of death. I stuffed some nuts and dried fruit in a pouch and slipped it into my satchel before swinging it, my quiver, and bow over my shoulder. I filled my canteen with water. Just before I left, I fastened a set of three throwing knives and a dagger to my belt. I turned to look at Peeta, making sure he was still asleep, before silently slipping out the house.

Despite my fatigue, I set off at an easy jog. It felt good, to fade further into the heart of the forest. It was what I was built for. Weaving noiselessly between trees, leaping over streams and fallen logs. Soon, I found myself running. A smile grew – oh it felt so good to be stretching my legs, pushing my body past the limit. The early morning air was invigorating.

A noise came from behind. Changing gears, I leapt onto a log, jumped off and grabbed a thick, low hanging branch. Momentum carried me up; twisting in mid air, I landed on the top of the same branch, leather soled boots landing with a dulled thud. Swiftly, I scurried up another three branches, crouched and waiting. I pressed myself against the trunk, pulled out the double edged dagger. If the noise came from another person, they were so close to home, I knew they would find it. I could not let that happen.

I was poised, ready to drop down and attack. Peering over the edge, I let out an inaudible sigh, put away the dagger. A sharply quilled porcupine waddled through the underbrush, heading at a steady pace away from me and towards the river. I waited until it was out of sight, then scanned, sharp-eyed for any more surprises. Once sure there was nothing else, I came down and resumed my jog north-west.

Near the end of the day I reached District 7's fence line. I made a roost up in a tree close by, leaving behind my satchel, and went back into the forest to hunt. I knew there was a marshy swamp not too far away and headed there. The ground grew wet and it smelled of decaying plant life. And all around me were the sounds of life. I crouched and waited patiently.

Two rabbits and a duck later, I went back to the roost, traded my bow and arrow for the satchel. I found the hole under the fence I always used and slipped inside to District 7. The Hob was a half hour walk. Poverty was all around me: wood shanties were falling apart, emaciated children played in the dirt. A couple young adults scowled at me, threateningly twirled hatchets in their hands. One, a hardened blonde-haired girl, stared at the game hanging from my bag hungrily, and stood, axe in hand. She advanced towards me until I flashed the dagger, warning her with a venomous glare. Nodding to herself, she backed off and took back her place among the others.

The Hob was in an old log processing warehouse, no longer serving its original purpose. Inside, a dozen or so tables were set up, each vendor showing their wares and services. Many, upon recognizing me, bowed their heads out of a mixture of respect and unease. They did not know my name, who I was, or where I came from. All they had was their own label for me: Huntress.

I made my way over to a booth on the end. The portly, middle-aged man smiled. "Well well if it isn't the Huntress. It's been a while. What can I do for you m'lady?"

"Dom," I nodded. Dom's casual demeanour always made me nervous. "What's in stock today?"

"Depends, what do you have for me?"

I pulled out the bundle with all the dried herbs, unrolled it for him to examine. "For your wife." She was the local Healer.

He yawned contemptuously. "So?"

I threw the freshly caught duck and hare on his table as well. His eyes glinted greedily. "Always through the skull. You never miss, do you?"

As he pulled the rabbit towards him, I whipped out my dagger, stabbed it down through its head, pinning it to the table. He reeled back in shock. "Food, Dom. Give me the goods."

"10 pounds of oats." His voice wobbled, eyes wide, "I'll even toss in a tin of matches and 2 pounds dried venision."

"Dom," a malevolent smile, to remind him I always expected his full co-operation. "No tricks this time. Understand?"

"No m'lady. Clear as water."

"Good," I pulled out the dagger and put it back in its sheath. I watched as he carefully weighed out the oats and poured them into a burlap sack. He wrapped the meat in paper with the matches, and passed both packages over the counter. I took them, one in each hand, feeling the weight. Last time he cheated me out of 3 pounds of potatoes. Satisfied with the weights, I put them in my satchel. "See you tomorrow."

Dom nodded again, afraid to utter another word. As I walked to the next booth on my list, I could feel everyone's eyes on me.

"Huntress." The grey-haired woman always smiled kindly, but it never extended into her eyes. I was sure she could figure everything about me out if she tried, and if she wanted to, turn me over to the Peacekeepers. Since she had plenty of opportunity but never acted, there formed between us a mutual unfamiliarity. A non-friendship of sorts, each distrustful of the other, but agreeing to unspoken terms of a dependant acquaintanceship.

I pulled out the deer hide and pelts, spreading them out on her table. "I need a winter parka."

She picked them up, examined the quality of the fur and hide. "Should be easy enough."

"Rush order."

Her face scrunched up; she was thinking. "Payment?"

I tossed the remaining rabbit on the table. "Three more tomorrow when it's finished."

"Done." She called over her shoulder for her grandson to come collect the hides.

"Make it to his size," I told her. He looked to be about the same size and build as Peeta.

Surprise flickered into her eyes, and instead of disappearing into the back to start working, she stayed at the counter, making herself appear busy wiping down the wooden boards.

"It's summer time. You usually come in fall." She indicated to a chair nearby.

"Needed some extras now." I dragged it over and sat. "Any news around here?"

"Huldor has some new odds and ends. A couple books over at the booth across from him. And Jessral is rumored to have some bread, honey, and cheese coming in tomorrow. Oh, and the Hunger Games finished."

"Did they?" I asked casually.

"The girl from District 12 won."

"The odds were in her favor," I said bitterly.

"It was close, coming down to just a few contestants facing off in close quarters. But she won. There's hope for Panem yet." her eyes clouded over and she added, "The _boy_ from 12 died."

"Oh?"

"They couldn't find his body." She gazed at me, steadily and judiciously.

"Muttations. Probably ate him before they could find him." I lied easily. Inside though, my heart was pounding, wild with fear of being caught.

"Probably," she nodded. When our eyes locked again before I left, I almost squirmed. She must have known I had something to do with it. But she was not sure if I had been the one to kill him, or the one to cart his body away. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes." I bowed my head and left.

That night, as I settled in my tree roost, I waited for the nightmares to come. Just before I fell asleep, my mind ringing with imaginary screams, I reflected on the conversation I had with the tailor, and playing ignorant about Peeta's disappearance. All I could think of were his words to me by the willow tree: _you're a terrible liar. _


	7. Chapter 7: Nightmares

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Chapter 7

The next evening, I slipped under the fence and back to the Hob. On the other side of the entrance, I could hear the voices of Peacekeepers bartering with the vendors. Instead of walking in, I hid around the corner of the building, pressed back deep in the shadows. My hand rested on my throwing knives, ready to defend myself if it became necessary.

Minutes passed by. Eventually they left, laughing and drinking, as they made their way back to their posts. I waited until they were out of sight and earshot, before sliding into the building. I went back to Dom's booth, traded for more dried goods, then ventured over to Jessral's for the rumored bread.

Her bread baskets were empty. "Peacekeepers," she shrugged. Glancing around, she snuck me a sly smile, revealed a loaf hidden under the blanket on her lap. "I thought you might come by, so I saved you one."

"How much?"

"A rabbit. Add two squirrels, and I'll toss in a crock of honey-butter."

I hesitated, thoroughly tempted despite the outrageous price. _It's been so long since I've tasted butter. _I did a mental count of how much game I had left. I could not spare any rabbit. I countered, "Three squirrels, two quails."

"Deal," she wrapped the bread in paper and filled a small jar with honey-butter. As we traded goods, she smiled, "come in fall, maybe there will be pumpkin cake."

The tailor saw me coming, sent her grandson to retrieve the coat I requested. I gave her the three rabbits, as promised. Her grandson came back and gave her a large leather backpack, then waited to see what would happen. With a casual wave of her arm, she dismissed him.

"As requested," she pulled out the deer hide parka for me to examine. Soft dark tan exterior, the inside completely lined with rabbit fur, hood trimmed with rare black fox fur. I fingered the buttons, an ornate pattern carved into the rich dark red wood.

"They're from Huldor."

I glanced over at the scruffy red-haired man; he watched us anxiously. I raised my hand to him, a gesture he mirrored, relief evident on his face. The tailor folded the coat up and put it in the backpack before handing the entire package over to me.

"How much for-"

"Take it. There is something extra inside as well." Looking me straight in the eye, she added, "I hope it fits."

I tried not to let my voice reveal how wary I had become. Smoothly, I replied, "I'm sure it will." I swung the strap over my shoulder and walked out. Once safely off the ground, I rummaged to the bottom of the backpack, to see what this 'something extra' was. I pulled out two sets of men's clothes: shirts, sweaters, pants, boxers, socks. My heart thudded in my chest. _She knows. She knows Peeta is with me. _Quickly I stuffed it back in, as if doing so would make it disappear. So I could pretend nothing happened, and maybe, I would fool myself into believing that the tailor knew nothing. It did not work.

That night, I barely slept. Unease filled every corner of my mind. I dozed lightly, one eye open, ears alert to the slightest sound. By the time the sky began to turn from black to hazy grey, I was up and packed. Before life in the District began I was already making my way back home.

Worn out and weighed down, the trip seemed a lot longer than before. I munched on what was left of the nuts and fruit I originally brought, and dreamed hungrily of toast with honey-butter. Closer to home, I checked the snares I had set before I left. One was set off and empty, the other had a strangled rabbit, partially eaten and rotting in the summer heat. A swarm of flies shot up as I untangled it and threw it away into the bush.

I was upset. _Waste of food. Why didn't he check the traps? I told him that was what they were there for. _Swallowing back indignation, I continued up and over the hill. As soon as I was halfway down, the front door swung wide open, Peeta limped out waving and shouting my name, "Welcome back Rayne!"

"Shut up Peeta!" I bolted down the hill and fairly tackled him back into the house. He fell down; I whirled and shut the door as fast as I could. "What do you think you're doing!"

"I was –"

"Half the forest now knows where we are. Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Were you being chased?"

" you don't know that." I sighed in frustration, dumped my bags on the ground. "What if it wasn't me coming down the hill? You'd be dead because you welcomed someone into my home with open arms!"

"Oh come on Rayne, not everyone is like that." He used his cane to push himself to his feet, brushed the dust from his pants.

"That's your problem Peeta: you put too much stock in the goodness of other people."

"And you don't put any." He retorted. "Have some faith in humanity."

"I can't. I was never born with any. And I stopped trusting people a long time ago." I turned, unlacing the straps to the backpack.

"You trust me."

Looking over my shoulder, I cast him an amused smile. "Oh really? And how can you be so sure?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"I think you confused my assistance to yourself for trust."I pulled out the coat and shoved it roughly into his chest. "The fact remains: I don't know if I can trust you or not. And you probably shouldn't trust me."

He blinked, then looked down at what I left in his hands. "What is this?"

"Winter parka," I growled, unpacking the rest of the supplies. "It gets cold in winter around here."

"Thanks." Then he smirked, "so you don't trust me, huh?"

I disregarded his comment, and changed the subject. "Hunger Games finished."

"What happened? Did you hear? Who won?" anxiously, he sat down.

"Your girlfriend." Behind me, I heard him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness." He muttered under his breath, before adding, "I guess I won't need the coat then."

I shot him a curious glance. I leaned back against the counter, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"The Games are finished. I can go home. You can have this place to yourself again."

"You can't go back." I said bluntly.

"I'm sorry . . . what?"

"You can't go back home."

"Why not?"

"They announced you were dead. Remember: they fired the cannons. You're dead." I did not know how more simply I could put it.

"I could say they made a mistake. They never found me, they can't confirm anything."

"You can't lie your way out of this one Peeta."

"Sure I can." Panic set in. He grasped at straws, trying to think how he could play this out, "I was attacked, my arm wounded, the tracker fell out. I dragged myself to a cave, hid there while the games played out. I could have been knocked unconscious. I could –"

"If you go back they'll kill you." I snapped. "They _will_ kill you. They won't even hesitate."

"And how can I trust you?" he shot back, using my words against me. "For all I know, you have your own agenda. Why are you keeping me here, really?"

"I'm trying to keep you alive!"

"For what? I was taught that Districtless were cruel to their captives, doing all kinds of unspeakable –"

"You don't know anything!" I growled.

"Then enlighten me. How do you know they'll kill me if I go back?"

"Because they've done it before!" I shouted. My throat tightened as buried memories rose to the surface. But I would not cry, I would not break down and let him see me cry. "They've done it before."

Peeta was not expecting this, I could tell. Try as I might, I was unable to keep the emotion out of my voice. He picked up on that. In return, his demeanor softened, voice became gentle. "What happened?"

Before I could stop myself, I told him, "There was a girl . . . seven years ago." _I can't believe it's been that long already. _"Seven years ago, I entered the Hunger Games arena and found a girl. Her name was Naomi. She wasn't hurt too bad, just slowly starving to death. I remember thinking she was smart: she buried herself under dirt and debris for days at a time, was able to steal from other tributes occasionally. She knew there was no way she would make it. But she was so kind. So soft-spoken. She couldn't hurt a mouse."

Her face painted itself in the air before me. The same one that would start off my nightmares every evening. Pale skinned, reddish-blonde curls, small snub nose. And those dark green eyes that followed me everywhere. When I continued, my voice sounded pained, even to my own ears. "I saved her. Like I saved you. I took her out of the arena with me and hid. I wasn't living here at the time. I was closer to District 9. Everything was fine. They assumed she died, eaten by Muttations. The cannon was sounded. I took care of her." I looked him in the eye, "I loved her like a sister. I did everything for her."

Here my voice cracked. Peeta waited patiently for me to continue. I tried to put my walls back up. I made myself speak bitterly. "I gave her everything I could. But it wasn't enough."

"Go on," he coaxed tenderly.

"Months after the games ended, she changed. She became sad, talked about her family more and more. I was losing her slowly. And then one day I woke up, and she was gone. I tracked her down, followed her through the forest . . ." I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat. It all came out in a rush, pitch escalating with each sentence, "She made it back to the Capitol. Peacekeepers stopped her at the edge of the city, she explained that she escaped the arena and had been hiding in the forest. All she wanted was to see her family! One of the Peacekeepers spoke into a communication device. He got his orders! He turned and shot her while she wasn't even looking!"

Peeta's face paled. I was fairly shrieking at this point. "They killed her Peeta! They killed her, and I watched, and I did nothing to stop it!"

"There was nothing you could do Rayne."

"Don't you dare try to sympathize with me this time Peeta! You're not the one who has to watch her die again and again, over and over, every night of your life!" I squeezed my eyes shut, sunk down on the floor, head in my hands. Relating the event out loud gave it new depth and meaning. It left the memory fresh, raw and stinging in my mind. "Every night I see her standing there, clutching the bullet wound in her chest. Looking for me in the forest to . . . to come save her." I raised my head, staring blankly ahead, tears stinging but not falling, "Every night I watch that Peacekeeper walk up to her and finish her off with a bullet to her head."

Peeta was silent, still as stone at the table. I took a shaky breath, trying to compose myself. I stood and went over to where he sat. "I couldn't even say goodbye. They took her away from me Peeta. And I promised myself I wouldn't let them take anyone else if I could help it."

"I . . . I didn't know Rayne . . ."

"Well now you do." I looked down, my next words filled with scorn, "So don't you tell me the Districtless are the cruel ones."

After a moment of silent contemplation, Peeta voiced the bottom line: "I can't leave."

"Oh you can leave. Anytime you want." He looked up at me in surprise, so I finished my thought, "You just can't step foot into any district or the Capitol. You don't have to stay here with me. But you can't go home."

Peeta was silent for the rest of the evening. His face did not register anything, it was impossible to know how he was feeling. We ate our bread and butter with little enjoyment. When we went to bed, he simply turned his back to me.

That night I woke in a cold sweat. I sat bolt upright, gasping for air. Rubbing my chest painfully, I winced and tried to calm myself. Moonlight streamed in through the window, giving life to the shadows hiding in the corners. I looked over at Peeta, who I thought was asleep.

His eyelids flickered open and held my gaze. "You okay?"

I nodded. Groggily, he sat up with me. "Bad dreams?" I did not answer him, so he asked, "Was it that girl? Naomi?"

"Not just her. There are so many others. . ."

This time he did not say anything. Just sat in silence, allowing me to settle down. Eventually, he touched my shoulder, "I never did thank you for the parka."

I pulled away from his touch, hugged my knees instead, and shrugged. "You'll need it."

"I know. Thank you. It's just . . ." he struggled for the right words, "it's going to take me a while to accept that I can't go home. To adjust to all this. It's a change for me."

"You'll get used to it."

"I know I will. But you just have to give me some time to get used to the idea." he paused, waited expectantly for me to say something. When I did not, he continued, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I replied flatly, knowing full well he meant talk about my nightmares.

"Do you want me to do anything for you? To help you sleep?"

I hesitated, thinking back to when my fingers brushed his shoulders all those nights ago. How solidly grounded I felt for that brief moment. "Just lay next to me." I looked at him, and added suddenly, "Please."

He tried to hide the smile on his face, "I think that's the first time I've heard you say that word."

I grunted in response as we lay down beside each other. We stared at the ceiling, each put at ease by the other's presence. After what seemed like hours, Peeta asked, in a sleepy voice, "What did you mean when you said, 'there were so many others'?"

"I will tell you tomorrow," I lied, hoping he would forget by morning. I felt his head nod, and he drifted off to sleep. As I watched him, I wondered what it would be like to go to bed every night and just sleep. To not be tormented by dark visions, or see the people you loved die again and again. To dream dreams with happy endings. I tried to focus my mind on something good and beautiful, hoping it would infiltrate and change my nightmares into something more positive.

Try as I might, I could not think of a single thing. Dwelling on pleasant memories pained me, because they still ended in tragedy. All I had was the here and now: that I was alive one more day, with enough food to eat and shelter over my head. _But you have Peeta,_ a nagging voice suggested. Inside my head, I laughed cynically at myself. I had Peeta as company – for now. Until the next catastrophe took him from me. no, it was better if I did not consider him as something good that happened to me. I had learned from my past mistakes, and was not one to blindly repeat them. This time, I would keep my distance.


	8. Chapter 8: The Choices She Faced

**I'm having fun with this. I hope you guys all enjoy reading it. Please leave a comment!**

Chapter 8

The next few days passed by uneventfully. Peeta's leg was almost completely healed, but he still used the cane and walked with a limp. It would be months before the limp disappeared, and I told him so. He did not let that deter him from following me around and learning all he could.

I taught him about gardening and herbs. I taught him how to set snares and clean the game we caught. He much rather preferred to be in the garden if at all possible.

One day, I just finished cleaning and skinning a rabbit, when I noticed watched me from his spot in the garden. I washed my hands, and joined him. "You okay?"

"Yeah just squeamish I guess," he tried to laugh it off, "I know we have to eat. But I don't like the thought of killing something."

"You were in the Hunger Games. You had to."

He shook his head, "I never did. I mean, when I was allied with the Careers, they killed this one girl. When they thought she was still alive, I went back to finish her off. But by the time I got to her, she died from her wounds."

"Didn't they ask you if you killed her?"

"They asked if she was dead. So I said yes." He saw the look of disdain on my face and protested, "I'm not a coward Rayne."

"Would you have killed someone?"

"To defend myself?" he considered the question seriously. "Yes. I would. And I would kill to defend the people I love. But other than that . . . I hate it. And I hate that we have to be put in that position."

"We don't have much choice."

"I know. That's what makes it so hard."

"How would you know? You don't have a reason to lose sleep over it."

Turning his attention to the garden, he pulled a few weeds. He fiddled with them, then turned to me, "You never told me what you meant the other night, about there being others you dreamed about." When I remained silent, he asked in a serious voice, "Rayne. What . . . what were you doing in the arena when you found me?"

"I was scavenging, I told you before."

"Were you there to look for others?"

My jaw clenched. For a moment, I considered not telling him anything. He saw that familiar distanced look forming in my eyes. He knew I was going to shut him out. "To save them like you saved Naomi? Like how you rescued me?"

In a hardened tone, I answered him, "No. I wasn't there to rescue anyone."

"Then what were –" realization began to dawn on him. "When you found me . . . you were going to kill me. Weren't you?"

"Yes, I was." I snapped. "That's what I was there for."

"To . . . to kill me?"

"Don't assume you're so special. I was there for anyone." Truth burst from me, an angry broken dam. "Every year I go into the arena and scavenge for supplies. I never lied about that Peeta. But if I find a Tribute on the verge of death, I put them out of their misery."

"What?"

"I kill them off to end their suffering." I stated simply. "If they have anything I need, I take it from them."

"So you would have killed me."

"Yes Peeta. I was ready to kill you. Why do you think I aimed that arrow at your chest?"

"Why didn't you then?" he asked quietly. "Why did you rescue me instead?"

I was surprised by his change in voice, and was not too sure what he was thinking, "I don't know. You seemed smart and determined. I thought you could be a valuable companion."

His quiet demeanor shifted. It was only after he glared up at me, blue eyes flashing, that I realized he was angry. "Who do you think you are?"

I was thoroughly taken aback by his demanding tone. It never crossed my mind that Peeta could be angry with anyone. I looked at him in disbelief. "What?"

"The odds were never in my favor. Even my mother told me so! I should have died back in that arena. You changed that!"

"What are you –"

"Who do you think you are, deciding who gets to live and die? What right do you have, Rayne!"

Shocked silence. That was all I could do. He continued his angry tirade, "You go in there and condemn people to their death!"

"Their fates were already sealed," I hissed back, finding my voice.

"No!" he shouted, pounding fists on the earth. "Don't you dare say that! There is always hope. There are always choices and changes!"

"Not always Peeta!"

"Who knows how many others you killed could have lived."

"Only to die later in the games?" I challenged.

"Why couldn't you help them instead of slaughtering them?"

"I can't help all of them."

"Why not Rayne?"

"Not everyone wants help!" I shouted back, "Do you think any Career Tribute would want to be saved? They trained their whole lives for that moment in the arena, when they either come out victorious or laugh death in the face."

"But what about the others? Why couldn't you help them?"

"Not everyone has what it takes to survive. Especially out here. That's a fact of life."

"No, that's the code you chose to live by."

"It's the truth! Not everyone is brave, strong, or smart enough to make it."

"Now you become selective in who deserves to live? Like you really have a say in it. Controlling the outcome! You're no better than the Capitol!"

At those words, I lost it. Lunging at him, I pinned him down by the throat. "I told you before! Never put me on the same level as the Capitol!"

Eyes wide, he gasped for air, his own hands instinctively covering mine around his neck. My grip tightened, "The Capitol doesn't care if you live or die. All they care about is your entertainment value. They revel in the suffering of others. I don't."

"What you . . . do . . ." he struggled against my steely grip, "is . . . sadistic."

"What I do is an act of mercy!" I retorted. "They were dead anyway. Leaving them to suffer until they died, that is sadistic. That is the Capitol. If I put them out of their misery, at least there is some satisfaction in knowing that they weren't fully used by the Capitol. They weren't pawns in their game forever."

I released Peeta, who coughed and choked for air. "What right do I have to decide?" I asked sarcastically, "For as long as I can remember, the Capitol has decided who in my life dies next. I guess that gives me every right to decide who dies in theirs."

"That's not right," he wheezed.

"You may not agree with it, but that's how I see it. That is how I chose to defy them."

"Don't you feel anything for what you've done? Regret? Sorrow?"

I would have loved to say something that made him believe my heart was made of stone. Instead, drained from the argument, I said softly, "I wish I didn't."

"Your nightmares?" he prodded cautiously. At this point he was sitting up, rubbing the pain out of his neck. Already it was starting to bruise. He unconsciously shifted back and away from me, giving me my space while he waited for the answer.

"It's not just Naomi who I dream of. It's all of them. Every night, I see every one of their faces." I rubbed my forehead and groaned, "You know that girl you went back to finish off?"

He nodded. "She was dead by the time I went back."

"I killed her." I sighed, "Your Career allies fairly butchered her alive. She couldn't speak, but when she saw me, her eyes begged for me to spare her life."

"You . . . you could have."

Shaking my head, I continued, "No Peeta, I couldn't. I tried moving her, but she started to bleed out. I couldn't stop it. And then I heard someone crashing through the bush, on their way back."

"Me." he said quietly.

"What choice did I have? I didn't know who you were. If I was found, I would be killed. So . . . I snapped her neck." I saw Peeta cringe in disgust. "It was the quickest, most humane way I could."

"You could have left her for me."

"So you could relive the horror every night? Peeta, you have no idea how lucky you are to escape the Hunger Games when you did. You're probably the only emotionally sound person to make it out. You don't have to dream about death. But for me . . . what's one more dying face to me?"

"Then why didn't you kill me?"

"And add you to the count?" I sighed and flopped wearily onto my back. "Something about you was different. It was like finding Naomi again: someone smart, resilient, who could adapt and survive. And deep down inside, I felt like saving you would be atonement for everything else. Especially for losing Naomi. I thought I could do better by you this time around. I thought maybe, it would lessen the pain."

Peeta was silent during these deeply tender reflections. Instinctively, he knew this was something never before shared. He put aside the mistrust I created in him for just this moment. "Has it?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't think anything can change that now. And I'm sure I deserve it."

"Rayne . . ."

"I know you hate me Peeta." I raised my head, examining his face closely. "I can see it in your eyes. You're disgusted by me."

Carefully, he chose his next words, "I may not agree with what you've done. But I don't hate you. Events in your life shaped you to who you are now. Losing Naomi was a major event. I understand how that changed you."

"I'm a monster Peeta. Everyone says the Districtless are. That's what you believe."

"I don't think you're a monster. In fact, you may be more human than most others." He replied firmly, "And that's all that matters."

I sighed heavily, resting my head down in the grass. _You only know the half of it Peeta. _


	9. Chapter 9: The Districtless

**Now some of the action starts! Please read and review, thank you very much.**

Chapter 9

Summer turned into fall. During that time, Peeta steadily improved, and was soon walking without his cane. He did not pry about my past anymore, was careful not to touch me, and never mentioned the Capitol, even in passing. We never talked about Naomi or my nightmares, even though I knew I continued to wake him every night when I started to yell out or thrash about. He never brought up my violence against him that day, nor what happened in the arena.

I for my part never mentioned anything about District life or family in general. I returned to my usual curt, blunt attitude. I tried to put that day of revelations behind me, pretend it never happened. Instead, I focused on teaching Peeta survival skills.

I took him hunting with me through the forest one autumn day. The air was crisp. Golden leaves fell from trees and covered the forest floor in a thick, crunching mat. Squirrels chattered away, ran and hid up in trees when they heard us – or rather, Peeta – coming.

"Stop making so much noise." I snapped.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"If you were sorry you'd stop doing it." I retorted, "Try picking up your feet."

He fumbled along, hardly making any discernible change in noise. As I picked my way light-footedly through the leaves and over covered stones and branches, I tried to explain to him what we were looking for. "Marks on tree trunks. Scat on the ground. Broken branches, tufts of hair . . . these are all signs that big game passed through. Keep your eyes open."

As soon as the words left my mouth, he stumbled on a covered rock and fell. I tried to bite back my frustration as I helped him back onto his feet. He brushed himself off and apologized.

"Make sure you still have your weapon."

His hands went to the hunting knife sheathed on his belt. I gave the 10-inch blade to him before we left. I watched him now pull it out, toss it back and forth between his hands. He seemed more comfortable handling this than the bow and arrow, which I tried to teach him to use.

"It's still here," he said, putting it away.

"Good. Always make sure you're armed out here. You never know what you could run into."

He nodded and we continued. By midday, the landscape was starting to change. It became less densely treed, and rockier. Peeta picked his way slowly over the rocky surface, but travelled more quietly as a result. I held my bow and arrow low as I cautiously crept forward. Behind me, Peeta stopped and said, "We're looking for marks on a tree?"

"Yes."

"What about this?"

I went over to where he stood and examined the marks closely. The trunk was shredded to pieces, gouged deeply into the flesh of the tree. I put my hand over them and realized they were from claws, not antlers. I whipped around and scanned the area with my bow ready.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asked.

"Those are from a cougar-mutt."

"A what?"

"Cougar-mutt. The capitol took regular cougars from around here and changed them. They were created, along with other mutts, to patrol specific areas between districts. This climate suited the cougars."

Peeta pulled out his knife and gazed warily around. Together, we slowly backed up into the forest, away from the rocky terrain. "What's so special about cougar-mutts?"

"They're not as big as normal cougars, maybe just a hundred pounds. But they're more vicious. And quicker. Claws are at least four inches long and wickedly hooked. And they make this awful noise –"

A scream pierced the silence, filled the entire forest around us. Peeta jumped, my face paled. "He's found us." I turned to see Peeta a number of feet away from me. "Stick close, you don't want –"

Before I knew what was happening, I was flying through the air as something ran headlong into me. I landed on the ground, hard, the wind knocked out of me. My bow and arrow were sprawled way out of reach. I tried to breathe in, but could not. I wheezed, trying to scream so I could fill my lungs back up and move. I heard a snarl, turned to face the creature.

The tan coloured cat was crouched on a nearby boulder, getting ready to pounce. Wild amber eyes flashed in the sunlight. It hissed, revealing fangs as long as my hands. I was frozen in place, still unable to breathe. "Peeta," my voice came out in a raspy whisper, "Peeta run."

The cat snarled again and lunged straight at me. Suddenly Peeta appeared out of nowhere and charged the cat. He tackled it in midair, and together they tumbled away from me. I watched as Peeta grappled with the animal, ducked his head as it swiped its deadly claws at him. It hissed and spat in his face, desperately snapping at him. Trying to hold it off with one arm, he took his knife and drove it deep into the cat's soft side. It screamed again, unearthly and terrifying.

Peeta managed to kick it off him for just a moment, struggled to get to his feet. The bloody knife in his hand dripped onto the forest floor. The cougar-mutt circled in front of Peeta warily, snarling and hissing. While he held its attention, I dragged myself to where my weapons lay. I fitted an arrow and aimed. Once locked, I whistled to get the cat's attention.

It heard me and turned in my direction, fangs glistening white in the sun, ears flat against its head. I fired, but the animal turned at the last second and the arrow missed its mark, imbedding itself deep into its shoulder instead. It shrieked in pain. Peeta took this moment of distraction to act. In the time it took me to load another arrow, Peeta leapt onto the animal's back, so I could not shoot without the possibility of harming him. The animal went into a frenzy, tried to get Peeta off its back, but he hung on somehow and stabbed the animal through the eye into its skull.

It howled once; Peeta twisted the knife then pulled it out. The cat froze, then thrashed around violently. Peeta fell from it, rolled away to a safe distance. We watched as it batted at its face with its paw, convulsed once, then died.

Peeta was in shock. The adrenaline had stopped pumping, leaving him cold and trembling. My own heart pounded like thunder in my ears. After a few minutes passed and I was tolerably composed, I tried to get up. It took me a few tries, but finally, I was on my feet. My whole left side ached where I landed on it: shoulder, hip and knee. I limped as I tried to walk it off, made my way over to Peeta.

"Hey." I said gently.

He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and finally saw me. His teeth chattered, "What . . . what did I just do?"

"You did good. You saved my life." I nodded. I looked at him with a newfound respect, and I expressed it by saying something I had not said in a long time, "Thank you."

If he heard me, it did not register. "I just killed that thing."

"Yeah. You did. Now we have to bleed it. Care to do the honors? It's your kill after all."

He shook his head, but helped me string it up in a tree. I slit the cat's throat, allowing the blood to drain before we dragged it back through the forest to home. Once there, I showed him how to clean it out and skin it, then what to do with the hide. We salted and smoked most of the meat, and ate a bit as stew for dinner.

During the meal, he finally found his voice. The effects of shock wore off, leaving him dirty, tired, and fully aware of what happened. "I actually did that, didn't I?"

"Yes you did. I didn't think you had it in you."

"I told you I would kill to defend myself and others," he referred to that conversation we had months ago. The first time he brought it up.

"I didn't believe you at the time." I stood and hobbled to the fire, where I had pots of water heating up.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I grunted, carrying two pots over to the tub. "Just sore. I'm making you a bath. You deserve it."

"You said there were other mutts between the districts?"

"Just a few. There's the cougars, the bears. I know this sounds strange, but there's the woodpeckers too. They're pretty nasty. But the most ferocious I've seen are the wild dogs near Districts 10 and 11. They are somehow able to communicate and co-ordinate complicated attacks. They even turn on the weaker members of the pack. Each generation gets stronger, smarter, deadlier. I barely made it out of their territory alive."

"So you've lived near there before?"

"You know what the Districtless are, right?" I asked sarcastically. "We live in the land between the Districts. Each one is fenced off, marking the territories of each. But the land between is unclaimed. It's in this space that we lived."

"I know. But I thought the Districtless were broken up into different tribes, and each District had a tribe near it."

I stiffened, "That is how it used to be, before The Annihalation." He gave me a curious glance. I explained what little of my heritage I knew, "That's what we call it. The time after the districts rebelled."

"We call it The Dark Days."

"Fitting," I nodded. "To show the strength of their new rule, they instituted The Hunger Games for the districts, and The Annihalation for us, the Districtless. The Capitol blamed us as the cause of the rebellion, and the districts, caught in the aftermath of war, believed them. They spread lies about us, to build fear and hate against us."

"All those stories we were told . . ."

"They're not true. Soon after, the Capitol tracked down half the tribes and wiped them out. Any stragglers who escaped tried to find help with in the districts. But they rounded them up and killed them." I spoke coldly, simply relating dead history. It had nothing to do with me any longer. "The Final Six, as the last six tribes were called, held a meeting, and decided to break off into smaller clans and hide. The Capitol still found them. Eventually, the bloodbath ended and we were the last tribe. By this time, the Districtless were reduced to myth, stories told to children. It seemed everyone forgot about us."

"What happened?"

I tossed my head in annoyance, "We survived. Decades of oppression and violence against us shaped us into survivalists. We learned how to adapt. We became resilient. But that did not stop the Capitol."

"Even when I was a kid they said that all the Districtless were wiped out. That they had been gone for years."

"They lied Peeta." I shrugged at the simplicity of it, "The second last clan was wiped out 20 years before ours. Maybe they thought they could get away with saying we were all gone. They wanted to make you feel safe, like you could trust the Capitol. They wanted you to feel that, although they forced you to give up children for the Hunger Games, they had kept you safe from a bigger enemy. And what better way to keep the districts united, than to give them a common enemy that wasn't the Capitol."

He was shaking his head in disbelief, trying to understand the truth of what actually happened in Panem's history. "So what happened to your tribe?"

"They found us, 12 years ago. They killed my family. I managed to escape, and I've been hiding ever since." I poured the last steaming bucket of water into the tub. "I've been hiding since I was 10."

"Where did you go first?"

I turned to him, spoke brusquely, "Clean up first. I'll tell you before we go to sleep."

While he bathed, I made many trips to the lake. The cooling night air chilled my body, snapped my senses awake. I tried to decide what exactly I should tell him; how much I should reveal at a time. By the time the fresh water was heated up, Peeta was dressed and relaxed in bed, and my mind was made up. After dumping the dirty water and filling it again, I closed the curtain around me and washed up.

"After I first escaped," I began, feeling some comfort in hiding behind the heavy fabric. "I hid outside District 2. I was young, and anything else was too far for me to travel without supplies. I snuck in every once in a while and stole weapons to help me hunt and defend myself. After that, I moved camp every two years. Until now." I winced in pain; my left side was turning into an angry purple bruise.

"You're not moving this year because of me."

"No. It will be fine. Besides, I did not think you were in any condition to be moved when I first brought you here." Drawing my legs up to my chest, I hugged my knees. "I think I misjudged you."

From the other side of the curtain came the faint question, "Do you trust me now?"

I thought for a moment. "Yes . . . well, I trust you more than I did before."

"But not completely."

"No." I shut my eyes and leaned back against the tub. "I don't think I could trust anyone completely. It's too late for that."


	10. Chapter 10: Definition of Love

**This was a kind of mushy chapter, and there will be a few more like it. But they're needed to establish and explain some stuff. Sorry if it gets boring again. Please read anyway :)**

Chapter 10

Autumn pressed forward. After the cougar attack, we stayed away from the rockier side of the land, headed deeper into the forest instead. Peeta's strength – which he never mentioned before – became an asset as we readied for winter. While I spent my time digging up the garden or hunting game, he cut down logs, chopped wood, and hauled barrels of water. Coming back from the forest one day, I stopped to watch him cut logs.

The ax swung over his head in rhythmic motions. Hair damp from sweat fell across his face, which was scrunched in concentration. Time was flying. It had been almost half a year since I found him. His leg was completely healed. All that remained was a large scar. The limp he walked with was starting to disappear. And though living this way made him lean, he still gained back most of his weight. His face was no longer hollow, eyes not sunken; they sparkled bright blue with life. Pausing to wipe the sweat from his forhead, he saw me and waved. Though he did not call out as he used to, it was still plain to see he was happy I was back.

For a moment, I felt a twinge of jealousy. Everything about Peeta seemed . . . uncomplicated. He could take things in stride, and never missed a beat. Outwardly, it appeared nothing fazed him. There was an innocence to him. He never dealt with truly hard times, never really knew what it was to suffer or to have to defend himself. He managed to get by with easy smiles and winsome words.

"Hey Rayne. Want to call it a day?"

"Might as well. The sun sets earlier now."

I brushed past him into the house and started to prepare dinner. After everything was ready, I noticed that Peeta was not in the house with me. I stuck my head out the door and scanned the area. Frowning, I ventured out to look for him. I noticed some over turned leaves on the trail to the pond and followed it there. The trail ended at the water and he was nowhere to be seen. Panic set in.

"Peeta?" I whispered loudly. I heard a shuffling noise above me and looked up.

Peeta stuck his head over the branch he was sitting on. "Hey."

"Peeta!" I started up the tree after him. "I'll kill him myself," I muttered in relief.

He sat on a fat branch near the top of the tree. He moved over, making space for me as I sat next to him.

"What are you doing up here?" I asked.

"Look. See for yourself." He nodded off in the distance.

The sky was set ablaze with fuchsias and burnt oranges as the sun started its slow descent on the horizon. The entire forest of District 7 lay out before us, varying in shades of green. It was so dense that the populated towns within the district were swallowed up. A river wound its way throughout the forest, flashing gold here and there in the fading light. To our far right, we could see the snow-capped mountains that bordered the district and the Capitol.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked softly.

I looked over at him curiously. There was a far off look in his eyes, and I wondered what he was thinking of. He caught me looking at him and laughed from embarrassment. "That probably sounds weird to you."

"Can I be honest with you?" I asked. He nodded and waited expectantly. "I've never actually stopped to take a look before. This is the first time I have actually _seen_ a sunset."

"Oh . . . well, what do you think?"

A faint smile grew as I stared into the burning sky. It was almost hypnotizing. "It is beautiful." I agreed quietly.

"You're lucky. You know that right?"

"How am I lucky Peeta?"

"You're free – more or less. And you're surrounded by beautiful things." Here he paused and looked down at his hands. He fiddled nervously with a piece of paper for a moment, before handing it over to me. "Here. I made this for you."

Puzzled, I took it from him and unfolded it. My face paled. Discreetly, I touched the face on the page. "Naomi," I whispered. There she was, sketched out on this paper in my hands. As real and alive as life itself.

Peeta, made more nervous by my stunned silence, hastily explained, "I thought . . . you might want something to remember her. To remember her as she deserves to be remembered. Not just another dying face. But as your friend."

"You're the lucky one Peeta," tears burned the back of my eyes, voice caught in my throat. "You can see the beauty, even after death."

He had nothing to say to this, but I could tell my words bothered him. While I composed myself, he sought to change the subject. "What are winters like here?"

"Cold," I shook my head to clear it, "Very cold. And snowy. I usually stay inside unless I absolutely have to go out. But maybe this year it will be different."

He smiled, and stared out at the last few golden rays of the sun. I felt like he did not hear me, that he was somewhere else. I called his name a few times before he turned back to me.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Let's go back. Before it gets dark."

"Right. Yeah."

Once in the house however, things did not change. He ate mechanically, barely spoke, and went to bed soon after. He stared up blankly at the ceiling, even as I crawled in next to him. I opened my mouth, hesitated, then propped myself up on my elbow to face him. "Peeta. What are you thinking about?"

"You're wrong about me. I'm not lucky. What little I had is gone. My family. My friends. My home."

"But you're alive." I stated. He was starting to confuse me. "Aren't you grateful for that?"

"I am. But being alive . . . it's not enough anymore. I want to _live_."

"You have a better chance of doing that here than in your district."

"I know. Still . . . before all this happened, all I wanted was a normal life. To . . . I don't know. Start my own bakery. Get married. Have a family. Try to make my life into the ideal I always dreamed of, despite Panem being the way it is."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Why would you want to have children in this world? So they can be possible Tributes for the Hunger Games?"

"I want to give someone the life I wish I had." He sighed, turned on his side to face me. "I want to give the love I never had growing up. I want to love someone how they should be loved. How they deserve to be loved."

It clicked now, in my brain. Why he was acting the way he was. "You're thinking of that girl . . . Katniss."

He nodded, seemed almost ashamed at being so easy to read. "At first I missed her. Then I had other things to think about. But now . . . what you said, about me never being able to go back home . . . I think it finally sunk in. Because I miss her so much. But she's starting to fade. Rayne . . . it's getting harder and harder to remember her."

It pained me, this entire conversation. Peeta's eyes were troubled, begged me for help. I knew there was nothing I could do to help him with this. It was something I had limited experience with. So I cleared my throat awkwardly, and asked, "Tell me about her. How did you meet her?"

He told me the story: how his father wanted to marry her mother but she married a coal miner instead. How Peeta heard her sing when they were five years old and fell in love with her. How he watched her all those years but she never saw him. How he saved her from starvation despite suffering the wrath of his mother. And finally, how they were reaped together in the Hunger Games.

"Our mentor Haymitch, told me to share the story with Panem on the interview. It was meant to gain sympathy, give us sponsors, so Katniss could have a fair shot at winning."

"What about you?"

"What about me? I never had a chance," he snorted. "I knew that going into this whole thing. There would be no way I could ever win."

"But you hid by the river. Very well. You could have done that at the beginning and just waited it out."

He was shaking his head. "No, I couldn't have. That would mean I would risk losing Katniss. That's why I joined the Careers. Sure, I'm handy with a knife and I can lift things. But those aren't really survival skills. And I couldn't help anyone else with those skills. But . . . I knew that the best way I could help Katniss was by joining the ones who were looking for her."

"I don't see how." I said doubtfully, "You could have stayed with her, protected her."

"I would have just been in the way - as you well know. Look how much grief I give you when you try to take me hunting. By being with the Careers, I could draw them away from her, buy her time. And I did. I helped her escape from them."

"But then look where that got you." I was thinking back to when I found him dying by the river.

He read my mind. "Like I said: I knew I wasn't going to make it out of the arena alive. So if it meant I had to die so she could live . . . at least I could die with some measure of contentment."

"But to sacrifice yourself for someone . . ." I rubbed my head, trying to understand.

"That's what love is, Rayne." He smiled, "to put that person's life ahead of your own. When you value their life more than your own."

"I'm sorry. It's a hard concept for me to understand." It ran contrary to the life I lived.

He thought for a minute, trying to think of something to help me understand. "Your parents loved you," he said gently, "they gave up their lives for you."

"That implies they had a choice. There was no choice." I spat bitterly.

Sensing my indignation, he backed off and used another example. "You risked your life to save me."

I scoffed at the idea he presented. "A momentary lapse of judgement. Besides," I added arrogantly, "we were never in any real danger."

Right away he countered with one last example. "When we ran into the cougar-mutt. You couldn't move or defend yourself when you were knocked down. You told me to run. To save myself."

I opened my mouth to argue, but my mind drew a blank. _He is right, I was ready to lose my life so he could get away. I was willing to . . . to sacrifice myself for him. Why did I do that? _The thought sat uncomfortably in my mind. "Let's be clear. I don't _love_ you."

"But you care. To some extent."

I shook my head in amazement, "I don't do that. Ever."

"Care?"

"Sacrifice myself for another." I thought for a moment, "I guess that means I don't care. Surviving out here, I can't afford to. I guess that makes me selfish."

"What about Naomi?"

"What about her?" My back was up once again.

"You saved her from the Hunger Games and took care of her. You said yourself you loved her."

"By your definition, I never loved her."

Peeta blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"If I really loved her I would have saved her again from the Peacekeepers. I would have stepped in and risked myself for her. I didn't."

"That doesn't mean you didn't care about her."

"It does prove I'm selfish though. I was more worried about my own life than hers. And I've shown that time and again."

He was quiet for a long time. I took it as his silent agreement. Angrily I lay down on my back, arms crossed behind my head. "I guess I'm incapable of loving."

"It just means that you haven't learned how. And that's not the same as being unlovable." He left it at that, turned over with his back facing me. The end to the conversation.

"I wish I could believe you," I whispered softly to myself.


	11. Chapter 11: Wintertime

**Might be a bit cliche but oh well. Want to know her story? Read the next chapter too! **

Chapter 11

Looking back over the last few months, I notice something different. Having Peeta around was slowly changing me. We were finding our balance in this strange situation. While he remained steady in his compassionate and emotional nature, I found myself being eroded away slowly. It happened so gradually, I never noticed until I stopped to look back.

My harshness was starting to soften. Unused to normal conversation, my words were cold and blunt. Now they stretched out into full sentences, conveying ideas, meanings, even feelings. Of course, it was not blatantly obvious. Most of my life, living alone and in a hostile environment, was impossible to forget. But I knew I was changing. And so did Peeta.

He sensed this opening in my demeanor, and used it to ask more questions about myself. He asked about my family, what it was like living as a Districtless: whether or not I had any pets, siblings, hobbies. Though these subjects were a source of unending bitterness for me, I still found myself telling him bits and pieces. And when I thought I had said enough, my defenses kicked in and I stopped talking.

Deep down inside, a part of me was grateful to have a patient ear to listen. I never thought I would feel the need to share these things with anyone. But I kept that need in check, reminded myself that I had been hurt before. When Peeta sensed I was starting to withdraw into myself, he tried a new tactic.

He tried to make me laugh.

The first snowfall of winter came late in the year. But once it started, it refused to stop. After being cooped up in the house together for four days, we were grateful to see the sun shining. Eagerly we put on our parkas and boots, then trudged outside to walk through the forest.

The entire world was blanketed in two feet of snow. It crunched under our feet, clung to the fur on our parkas. It was beautiful, all glistening and clean. Cold air filled out lungs; peeta stopped to blow out and see his breath.

"Hey Rayne, have you ever had a snowball fight?"

I turned around and asked, "What's a sno-" Cold snow hit me square in the face. I sputtered, tried to wipe it out of my eyes and nose. Peeta laughed. Angrily, I cleared my face, "Peeta! I'm going to get you!" But when I was able to see clearly, he was gone.

I scanned the ground for his tracks. They went behind a tree. Quietly, I crept up to the trunk. Just as I jumped out around the tree to catch him, he threw another ball of snow. I spat the snow out of my mouth, listened to Peeta run, laughing to himself. _Fine. Two can play at this._

I started climbing up the tree. Once a good fifteen feet off the ground, I hopped from tree to tree, following his tracks deeper into the forest. After a few minutes, I stopped, and found a large branch heavy with snow. I waited, crouched in the cold.

After what seemed like hours, I heard Peeta's voice. "Rayne?" He came out from his hiding spot behind a nearby tree, snowball in hand. He tossed it up and down while he looked for me. "Rayne? Where'd you go?" I watched as he put his new found tracking skills to practise and followed my trail. Except he was following his own tracks. And they led him right under my branch. I smirked.

Once he was in the right spot, I jumped hard on the branch. The heavy load of snow fell, cascading down, knocking snow off of other branches on his way down. Peeta heard a heavy 'woosh' and looked up, just as he was buried under a mountain of snow.

Grinning, I swung down from the tree. Peeta was covered under a few feet of snow, I could not even see him. I started to dig. "Peeta, you need to learn how to pick your fights."

His face now uncovered, he shook the snow out of his eyes and squinted up at me. "I have one word for you."

"What's that?" I stood over him, hands on my hips, an arrogant smile on my face.

"Duck!"

Another face full of snow as he launched a hidden snowball. At this point he was laughing. I wanted to be upset with him, but found I could not. Instead, I started laughing right along with him.

Surprise was evident on Peeta's face. "Rayne, you're laughing!"

Before I had a chance to answer, my laughter echoed as notes in a song through the forest. It fell in silvery peals, layered, rich and textured. Peeta looked around, "What . . ."

"Mockingjays." I smiled, pointing up to the trees. All around us, the silvery-fawn birds landed in trees, sang back my laughter. "Do I really sound like that?"

Peeta nodded, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I turned to hide my embarrassment, sang out a five note tune instead. The birds quieted down as I sang, only the occasional ruffling of feathers broke the silence. They sang back the tune again and again, before taking to flight and disappearing into the forest. To carry the song of my laughter with them throughout Panem.

Peeta and I were silent throughout the whole performance. Something stirred in me. The whole experience felt magical, and for once, I felt like I was part of something bigger. Only after the last bird left, I held out my hand to him. "Come on. Let's celebrate." After uncovering the rest of him, we headed back towards home. Along the way, we talked.

"I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh."

"It's definitely the first laugh I've had in . . . well I don't remember the last time I laughed like that."

"Neither do I. thanks for the entertainment."

"No," a mischievous glint formed in my voice, "Thank you."

"But I didn't do – yeow!" he yelped as I pulled on his parka and dumped snow down his back. I laughed again as I watched him shimmy and shake, trying to get rid of it. "Hey! That's not fair!"

"I told you, you have to pick your fights well."

"Oh I'm going to. Come here." He patted together a huge ball of snow and threw it at me. This time I was ready, and managed to dodge it.

"You're going to have to do better than that!" I grinned, before taking off.

Peeta followed suite, trying with difficulty to keep up. I bounded lightly through the deepest drifts of snow, whereas he wallowed through them. I glanced over my shoulder to see how close he was. As I did so, I noticed an icy patch under my foot. Before I could gather thoughts and change where I put my next step, I slipped. I slid a few feet, twisting in the air before landing with a thud on my side. I heard Peeta shout and looked up. He tried to stop in time but ended up crashing into me. We went flying through the snow, plumes of white powder spraying up all around us.

When the snow cleared, I was lying on my back with Peeta sprawled across me at an angle. Peeta groaned, rubbed his head. "What a wipe out."

Then it was my turn to groan, pinned under his weight. My ribs hurt from where Peeta landed on them. I closed my eyes, hoping nothing was damaged. A sigh escaped me. I felt his weight shift and blinked. Blue eyes directly over mine. I pressed my head back in the snow to put some space between us. "Peeta?"

A thousand emotions ran through his face and eyes. Emotions I could not even begin to imagine, from a world I did not know. His face dangerously close to mine, and incrementally getting closer.

I panicked. "Peeta. Get off. Now."

Blinking rapidly, he shook his head as if to clear it of a spell he was under. He pushed himself off me and stood. Hesitantly, he extended his hand out to me. Testing the waters. But the damage was done. I stood and brushed past him coldly. "Let's go home."

Peeta suffered all the way back. He was trying to figure out what came over him, and why I reacted the way I did. Inside the house, he took off his coat, watched me as I threw mine on the table and started up the fire. Then he started apologizing, coming nearer to me. "Rayne, I don't know what happened back there. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Talk to me?"

I could not find my voice. Instead I walked to the other side of the room. I heard him stop in his tracks behind me, hurt by my silence. "Rayne?"

The tone he used . . . I stopped as well. My heart ached, as he said my name again questioningly. I refused to turn around. I heard him walk up to me. "Rayne . . ." his voice was pained. Gingerly, he put his hand on my shoulder.

"What?" I snapped at him, shrugged my shoulder out from under his hand.

"I'm sorry." He stated again. In desperation, he tried to explain, "I'm sorry Rayne. It's just, with you singing to the mockingjays and everything . . ."

"Did I remind you of Katniss?" As I said the words, something inside me crumbled to pieces. I turned to face him.

"What? No. Well, maybe a bit." Peeta realized he had said the wrong thing. "Rayne, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

My heart started to harden. All those months of change were starting to unravel right before my eyes. And the bitterness that was welling inside me made it impossible to stop that. My former mistrust and hatred surged back. "How did you mean it then?" When he was unable to offer a reply, I found some words for him. "I'm not Katniss. I'm not _desirable_ like her. the sooner you get that straight, the better."

"Hey, don't say that," his tone changed. "It's not that. I just . . . got caught up in the moment I guess."

I cringed at those all too familiar words. "Next time, don't."

He saw me cringe and continued, "I'm really sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"Don't say anything Peeta," I scowled. "Don't talk about things you don't know."

He tilted his head. I knew what was going to happen next. The quirk which meant he was ready to stand his ground and pick this fight. "Like what?"

"Apologies. Loyalty. Love." I spat each word out like poison from my mouth. I turned my back to him, ready to walk away from the confrontation.

"You know more than me about these?" he taunted sarcastically.

I whirled around and slapped him hard across the face. His hand went to his cheek and all he could do was stare in shock. War was started in my mind. Part of me was mortified I had actually struck him; the other was in a fit of rage. "Don't mock me Peeta," I whispered sharply. "You have no idea the things I know about them."

"Then tell me." An angry red mark appeared on his face. for once in my life, I regretted lashing out in anger.

"Sit down." I ordered. While he sat, I stepped outside and put some ice in a bowl of water. I sat across from him at the table, dipped a cloth into the cold water, and pressed it against his cheek. He flinched as my hand neared his face, reminding me he had no reason to trust me anymore. As gently as I could, I pressed it to his face, and started my tale.

"I've never told anyone this before . . ."


	12. Chapter 12: Darach

**Hope this answers some questions as to Rayne's character and her 'quirks'. Please leave comments, thanks.**

Chapter 12

"After everything that happened with Naomi . . . I shut down for a long time. Over a year." I sighed. I had no idea how to tell this story. "I missed the next year's Games. I couldn't bring myself to step foot into that arena. That winter I got really sick and it snapped me out of my . . . depression, I guess you could call it. It was a hard winter, and I was desperately low on supplies, especially medicine, because I didn't scavenge in the arena. The panic brought me to my senses."

I paused here to dip the cloth back in the bowl of ice water. Once thoroughly chilled, I wrung it out and pressed it against Peeta's face again.

"That summer, I went to the arena. I'll never forget it." I shook my head at the memory, "It was a desert. There was nothing except the occasional rock or shrub. And it was filled with snakes."

"Sounds like fun." He winced as I pressed too strongly on his cheek.

"it was tough, but I managed. I picked off the Tributes that were slowly dying from snake bites –" Peeta gave me a look. I ignored it; we had already discussed that he did not like my tactics. There was no use arguing it again. "And collected supplies. When I was near the arena's boundary, I heard something. I went to investigate."

"You found someone?"

"Yes. A boy. A Career." Peeta gave me a curious look. "He wasn't badly injured, just a few cuts and bruises. But he was dehydrated and starving to death. He . . . he begged me to help him."

"A Career? Begging?" He asked doubtfully.

"I know. I didn't believe it either. I asked him why I should save him. He said that he had never wanted to volunteer in the first place. But it was his District's tradition. He was pressured by family and friends to volunteer, because it was expected of him. I asked him why he wasn't with his Career Pack. He said they got separated when they were attacked by sand scorpions and he hadn't been able to get back to them. I knew of the scorpion attack, so he was telling the truth. And from his condition, I knew he wouldn't be much of a threat." I snorted, "He didn't even have a weapon on him. I checked."

Peeta took the cloth and bowl from me, to tend to himself while I told the story.

"I cut out his tracker and pretty much dragged him under the arena barrier. He couldn't walk, he could barely stand. I made it back to the temporary camp I set up, but we couldn't leave for days, he was so weak. The first night and day, every time I gave him a sip of water or a bite of food, he threw up." I shook my head in amazement, "I don't even know how he survived. But he did, and eventually, I took him home. I was at the opposite end of District 7, closer to the east side of the Capitol, at the time. it took him a long time to recover. I had told myself that I would do everything right this time. After what happened to Naomi . . . I couldn't let that happen again. I told him outright that he could not go home again. He seemed fine with that."

"Where was he from?"

"He was from District 2. I kept him at a distance for months, waiting for his true nature to come out. But it never did. He was what you could call a 'gentleman'. He was charming, in his own way, and surprisingly sincere when he spoke." I blushed, as I added, "And he was very good-looking."

"What was his name?"

"Darach," I whispered. That name had not crossed my lips in years. Even now it was painful to say, burned my lips and scorched my tongue. Memories I had kept locked away resurfaced.

"Anyway," I continued quickly, "it took him months to become healthy again. And by the time that happened, we were pretty good friends. He was a great hunting companion. And I felt . . . safe with him around. Like I didn't have to be on guard against the world, because he was there, and I knew he would protect me. He said so himself."

"Did he ever prove it?"

I nodded, smiling, "Once. Some people from District 7 followed me back from their Hob in the late fall. I tried to shake them, then tried to fight them off. In the end, there were too many of them so I ran. Darach was out hunting, saw what was happening. He shouted for me so I ran to him . . . he took down the three men that were closest, I took care of the last two with arrows. I remember afterwards, shaking so bad that Darach had to pick me up and carry me home."

Talking about him brought in a tidal wave of mixed feelings. So while I smiled at that particular memory, my heart ached and throat tightened as I relayed the rest.

"After that, things changed for us. He became protective of me, was more gentle when he spoke. I found myself opening up to him, letting him inside . . . over the winter, we drew closer. Until one day . . . he kissed me," I brushed my lips with my finger tip, thinking. "He said he loved me. That I was beautiful. And I knew that I loved him."

I glanced back at Peeta. "I may not love by your definition. But in my own way, I loved him. As much as I knew how to love, I loved him." Again I blushed deeply, as I added, "we . . . we became . . . intimate. It's because we loved each other so much."

He nodded, both flustered and understanding. "I know."

"I was happy Peeta. I was so happy for that time. But it ended . . . how everything in my life ends."

"He was killed, wasn't he?" I bit my lip and nodded. Peeta added, "By Peacekeepers?"

I shut my eyes and pursed my lips. "No," I said softly, "not by Peacekeepers." Taking a shaky breath, I opened my eyes, used them to beg Peeta to understand. "You're going to hate me after I tell you what happened. You will actually hate me. And I won't blame you if you leave."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Rayne. Tell me what happened."

"I can remember it, like it was just yesterday . . ."

_It was a beautiful spring day, the forest smelled of warm earth and damp moss. It burst alive with splashes of green. I was returning home from a day of hunting, whistling happily in the sunshine. In my wake trilled a chorus of mockingjays. Everything around me was fresh and beautiful. I thought of Darach at home, fixing things up after the winter storms, and a smile flashed across my face. I couldn't wait any longer; I sprinted home. _

_The yard was empty. I burst into the little ramshackle house, and called out, "Darach! I'm back." It was dark and empty. There was no sign of him anywhere. Mounting panic gripped me, and I tore out of the house. Frantically, I searched the ground for a trace of where he could have gone. I found a broken branch leading away from the house, deeper into the forest. With no time to lose, I went back for my bow and quiver, then chased after Darach, hoping that everything would be okay._

_A couple hours later, the forest thinned out and I spotted him. He was alone. Relief flooded through me. "Darach!" I ran up to him. _

_He turned when he heard my voice, dark green eyes wide in surprise. "Rayne?"_

_I threw my arms around him, buried my face in the crook of his neck. "I went back home and you weren't there. I thought . . . I thought something bad happened."_

_Strong arms automatically wrapped around me. "Hey no. everything is fine. Besides," he stepped back, tilted my chin up with his finger. A self assured grin, "you don't need to worry about me."_

_"I know. But I do. What are you doing out here anyway?"_

_"Hunting. I got bored, thought maybe you could use the break. Why don't you go back home? I'll bring back a little something." _

_Darach turned his back to me, started to walk away. That's when I noticed the backpack he had. It seemed to be weighed down with supplies. I looked over his tall frame for any sign of weapons, but all I saw was a hatchet secured to his belt. Usually he carried more than that. _

_"Darach . . . you won't get much going that way. You're heading towards the Capitol."_

_He stopped but did not say anything. "Darach? Where are you really going? Are you . . . are you leaving me?"_

_He ran a hand through his tousled light brown hair. When he turned around to face me, it was as if I were looking at a different person. The expression on his face was foreign to me, I could not read it. "Yes Rayne."_

_"What?" It felt like I had been hit in the stomach. I felt sick, could not breathe. _

_"I'm going back to the Capitol."_

_"But Darach . . . we went through this. You can't go back." I started begging him, "Please don't go. They'll kill you!" _

_All he did was smile that charming smile and shake his head. "No. They won't."_

_"How can you be so sure?" _

_"Because I have something they want."_

_"What?" I asked. Nothing was making sense. "What do you have?"_

_"You Rayne. I'm turning you over to the Peacekeepers."_

_Another blow. My head was reeling, I could not understand. He saw my confusion, and explained my situation, "After that stunt with Naomi, the Capitol figured there must have been someone helping the Tributes. They wanted to put an end to that, and catch whoever it was. For the past two years, they've asked Careers from my District to volunteer as Tribute, with the added task of getting to you. last year, you never showed up. This year, I was chosen to find you. They knew you were too smart and cunning to just hunt down out here. But of course," he flashed a self-satisfied smirk, "everyone has their weaknesses. Yours was your pity. Your weak and foolish heart." _

_"And what's yours?" a voice asked from somewhere. It took me a moment to realize it was mine, I was in such a daze._

_"The Capitol has promised me everything they can offer: money, security, and a life in the Capitol itself. An honor not normally extended. All I had to do was find you, get close to you, then tell them everything I know."_

_"You . . . you used me."_

_Darach laughed coarsely. "Well . . . yeah. Of course I did. wait," his tone changed to one of mockery and contempt, "did you think . . . did you think I actually loved you?" _

_I was speechless. My heart broke, shattered into a million pieces, as he continued laughing. "Did you really think I could love someone like you Rayne? You're a monster, a freak, a savage. Who could ever love you?"_

_I tried to swallow back tears. Before I knew it however, they were streaming freely down my face. Everything inside me went numb from these shocking revelations. My vision blurred; I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to dull the ache that threatened to well up and escape with the tears. _

_"What – are you crying? The great, uncaring Rayne has finally learned to feel. Has the beast learned to love?" He snickered. "I'm just glad this is over now. I'm so sick and tired of pretending. I don't know how you felt about it, but every time I touched you, I felt sick to my stomach." _

_"You don't mean that," I whispered frantically. _

_Darach paused to consider it, then sarcastically replied, "No I think I do."_

_"But . . . you kissed me. We . . . we made love . . ."_

_He shrugged carelessly. "I got caught up in the moment I guess. I mean, it wasn't in the job description. It was just a perk."_

_My denial tried one last time, "Please, takes it back. Just take it back, reconsider what you're doing. Come back with me. Come back home with me."_

_"What, you want an apology now? I'm not sorry for leaving you. or for telling you those things. But maybe one day, I will be sorry for you. Because you know what they're going to do with you when they find you? you know what's going to happen to you when I tell them about you?" _

_I shook my head, eyes wide with panic. "No . . . no . . ."_

_"They're going to take you away, and finish you off like the rest of your family. Maybe even worse. I don't really know." He flashed me that charming grin I was all too familiar with, "it's none of my business really."_

I broke down, fully sobbing at this point. Peeta went over to me, guided me to the bed so I could be more comfortable. I barely noticed as he sat next to me, didn't even move away as he cautiously put his arm around my heaving shoulders. "I gave him a choice," I gasped for air between sobs, "I promise I did. Oh Peeta, you should leave. Just go. You're going to hate me forever."

"Hey, hey . . ." he tried to calm me down, "I won't go. I won't hate you. for goodness sakes, you just slapped me across the face, and I'm still here."

"I was so hurt Peeta . . . it was worse than everything that the Capitol had ever done before. How can something hurt so much without any visible wounds?"

"I know. It's because your heart got involved. That's the worst kind of hurt." He pulled me close into a hug.

I breathed in the scent of him and felt his solid arms around me. it calmed me down enough to continue despite my tears flowing freely. "He was walking away from me. I couldn't let him turn me in. I gave him a choice." Peeta froze. I could feel his arms going rigid, as he braced himself for what I was about to tell him.

_Through tear soaked eyes, I readied an arrow and aimed it at him. I tried to steady my voice, but it trembled nonetheless. "Darach, please. Just come back home."_

_"Or what?"_

_"Come back with me. Or . . . I'll kill you."_

_Darach laughed loudly, slapped his knee. "That's a good one. Come on then." He stood, arms opened, eyes closed, an arrogant smirk on his face, "Go ahead. Shoot me."_

_I sniffled back tears, tremors coursing through my hands. I could not do it. When the shot never came, he opened his eyes and taunted me. "I knew you couldn't do it. It's because you're weak. You lack conviction. You don't have the nerve, or guts to do it."_

_"Please . . ." _

_Shaking his head, he turned his back on me and started to walk away. "Waste of time. That's all this has been Rayne. Won't shoot me to save yourself. You didn't even shoot the Peacekeepers to save that little brat Naomi."_

_When I did not say anything in my defense, he whirled around to get in one last word, "I heard rumor that she called for you as she died. Do you even know how to love? Because you never went to her. I guess you never really loved her."_

_"Please . . ." I pleaded one last time. "Please come back . . ."_

_"You're unlovable Rayne. No one is going to come save you now. There's nobody left. You single-handedly managed to kill off all the people who might have ever loved you. I applaude you. I couldn't be that skilled even in the arena. Maybe the Capitol will put that to use."_

_I heard screaming, but it did not register in my mind that it was coming from me. Next thing I knew, Darach was clutching at the arrow I shot deep into his chest. Eyes wide with surprise, he dropped to his knees, before falling to the ground. My heart was pounding, I was panting for breath. The full force of what just happened hit me like a falling tree. I dropped my bow and ran over to Darach. I cradled his head in my lap, but he was already dead, green eyes staring up at me. Mixed emotions coursed through me: hatred toward the Capitol, anguish from Darach, anger at myself. _

_"I'm sorry . . ." I whispered. Inside, I became aware of feelings being extinguished one by one. Pity, compassion, happiness, love. These were being replaced by bitterness and mistrust, even as I sat there. Everything had changed so rapidly. A mockingjay cried out, echoing my scream as a piercing tone. _

_I wept bitterly._


	13. Chapter 13: 3 Things

**Ok more mushy teasing romantic stuff. Thanks for continuing to read the story despite it. **

Chapter 13

Tears were streaming down my face once I finished my story. Peeta sat in a frozen state next to me. His arms were no longer around me. I looked up into his eyes, wordlessly begging him to understand. To forgive me. But his face was unreadable.

"I dragged his body to the Capitol boundary and left it there for the Peacekeepers to find. They've left me alone since. That year, I entered the arena and did what I do best: kill people off. That's all I'm good for."

I sighed, tried to wipe the tears away. "Well Peeta. Now you know everything there is to know about me. Why I'm such a mess. I won't blame you if you leave." Still he was silent. His lack of response upset me even more. "Peeta, say something."

All he did was shake his head. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say anything."

"I want to say that I can't believe you did that."

"I did what I had to survive."

"I want to say that I don't feel like I can trust you."

"I don't blame you."

"You loved him Rayne."

My throat ached from crying. My words came out raspy, "I thought I did."

"You did. You really did." Again he shook his head, then suddenly stood. I watched, bleary eyed, as he put on his coat and went out the door. He left me alone in the dark cold. He never said a word, never even glanced back at me over his shoulder.

A fresh wave of sadness overcame me. it ached more than anything else did before, because he left of his own free will. I know I had said that he should leave me, but faced with the reality, it stung like I never thought it would. I pulled my knees up to my chest and cried. I did not hold back this time. I sobbed and wailed, choked out more tears than I had in my whole lifetime.

Minutes passed. The longer I was alone, the harder I cried, until I could no longer make a sound. While in this state, I heard the door swing open. I thought it was the wind, and I did not care. I could feel the cold wind rush in, heard it howling desperately outside. It was not until heard the door shut again that I looked up.

Peeta removed his snow covered coat and picked up the logs he gathered from outside. "Fire was low," he said before adding a log on the dying flames, leaving the others close by the heat to dry out. The damp log hissed and crackled for a while before catching fire. Peeta warmed his hands.

I stared in amazement, frantically wiped the tears from my face. "What are you doing here? I mean . . . I thought you left."

"Have you seen it out there? It's a blizzard." He grinned in jest, but it never reached his eyes. They shifted about in the firelight, troubled.

"You hate me." I turned my head in shame. "Darach was right. I am a monster."

"I told you before Rayne. You're not. I don't hate you . . ." He hesitated for the briefest moment, "In fact, it explains a lot. I feel like I understand you better. Why you don't trust people. why you don't accept pity. And you're right. Compared to you, I don't know as much about apologies, loyalty, or love. But I do know their other side."

I watched as he came and sat next to me cautiously. "For you, apologies were either non-existent or in the face of death. I only offer them before it gets to that. You've been hurt and betrayed, people have left you. I've always been there for others, even when it's hard, or at risk to myself. And love . . . it's always come with pain."

"Did . . . did Katniss ever love you?"

He smiled sadly. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then it's come with pain for both of us."

Quietly he reflected on that. In response, he said, "Maybe. But it doesn't matter. Because it's only the end that is painful. The experience itself is actually . . . beautiful. So next time, don't let it end."

"Next time," I spat bitterly.

With a sigh, he gently touched my hand. "3 things, right? Apology: I'm sorry all these things have happened to you. Loyalty: I'm not going to go anywhere, I'm not going to betray you."

"And love?"

"Love: there will be time enough for that."

I snorted, unbelieving. "Two out of three isn't bad. But I don't think I can do that last one again."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm just saying you should let it go."

"Easy for you to say."

"I know." He tried to stifle a yawn. "Come on, let's go to bed."

I stretched out while he threw another log on the fire. With a new tenderness, he threw the blanket of furs over me, tucking me in before crawling in next to me. I was drained and soon fell into a fitful sleep.

That night my dreams were flooded with Darach's face. he smiled and laughed, other times, his face was screwed up with agony and pain, fear reflecting in his eyes as I transformed into the creature he – and everyone else – always feared. I woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat, my back to Peeta. I felt an oppressive weight over me. As I squirmed to rid myself of it, it became alive, reflexively curled around me tighter.

I started to panic. Peeta felt me starting the thrash, heard me start to cry out. Voice heavy with sleep, he murmured incoherently in an effort to calm me. it was only then I realized that this weight around my middle was his arm. I froze, going rigid in his grip.

"Rayne. It's okay," he was close enough to me to mumble in my ear. "Go back to sleep."

My heart beat steadied under his protective embrace. The heat and solid feel of his body brought me back to reality. And though generally, I detested being touched, I tolerated it. But I never fell asleep. Instead, I lay on my side, unmoving, listening to Peeta's rhythmic breathing until the sun started to rise. I felt him stir, his grip on me loosened, and I slipped out from under his arm into the cold morning air.

I stirred the coals in the fireplace, fanning flames to life. Pots clanged loudly as I made something for breakfast. Peeta sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Good morning."

"Morning." I grunted.

As he went back out in the cold for more wood, I tried to gather my thoughts. Tried to become as distant and cold as I had been before. But the thought of Peeta holding on so tight was ever present in the back of my mind. Try as I may, I could not shake the memory.

When he came back in, I gave a small jump. I was flustered at the sight of him. My heart raced nervously. I watched him out of the corner of my eye the whole morning. He went about his daily routine normally. Nothing bothered him. It was as if everything that happened the last day never existed.

"Are you okay?" He asked later that day. We went out through the forest and I had a clear shot at a rabbit, but I missed.

"Fine."

"You sure? You seem nervous."

"I said I'm fine." I snapped back.

He shot me a sideways glance and cocked his head. "Ok then. Just checking. Because you missed that rabbit."

I muttered something about it being too thin anyway, and he dropped the subject for a few minutes. Next thing I knew, he said, "I meant what I said yesterday Rayne. You're not a savage, and I'm not here to betray you."

"You can still leave," I said stiffly, "leave anytime you want."

"Where would I go?" he shrugged. "There's nowhere else for me to go. Besides, I can't leave you now."

"Why not?"

"Who would chop the wood?" he grinned. "Seriously though. I'm not going anywhere. You need me."

"I need you," I scoffed at the idea. "I was fine before you came."

"You were surviving. But maybe one day . . . you'll start living?"

"And you think you can help me with that?"

"Well I think I know you pretty well now –"

"I've told you everything." I kicked the snow from my boots absent-mindedly.

"What I'm trying to say is this: I think we got off on the wrong foot. Even though we know so much about each other, we've been treating each other like strangers. Like we're roommates in the same house." sighing, he rubbed his forehead. "Can't we start over? Try to be friends?"

"Friends?"

Peeta nodded, held out his hand to me. i considered the offer. What did I have to lose? He knew everything about me, and I, him. I trusted him more or less. Slowly, I took his outstretched hand and shook it in agreement. A smile broke out on his face that was almost contagious.

"I promise," he laughed, "that this time, I won't call you Katniss. And we won't have to go through that whole trust thing again. We won't have to retell out stories."

"I'll try not to hit you again."

"No promises?"

It was my turn to chuckle. "I promise I'll try."

"Good enough for me."

That night, as we lay in bed, just before sleep came, I whispered to him in the dark. "Peeta?"

"Uh-huh."

"Promise me one more thing?"

"Anything."

I bit my lip. Nervously, I asked, "when I have my nightmares . . . don't leave me."

"Ok."

"What I mean is . . . hold my hand, or touch my shoulder. Wrap your arms around me. Talk to me. Please . . . help me get through it, even if it means waking me up."

"Oh. Ok."

"I'm sorry."

I thought he did not hear me, because for a while he was quiet. Then he whispered back, "Why are you sorry?"

"For putting you through this every night."

"Don't be sorry," he reached for my hand, gave it a squeeze. I could hear the grin in his voice. "That's what friends are for."


	14. Chapter 14: The 'Friendship Thing'

**Thanks for all those who are still reading. I know it's slow going. But after this chapter, things will pick up. I am trying to use this story to 'answer' things from the book. Hope you all enjoy!**

Chapter 14

At first, I thought I made a mistake. I thought that friendship was too strong a term. It was no fault of Peeta`s. no, it was entirely my own. For weeks, I cringed and pulled away from his efforts at reaching out to me. until night fell anyway. In the dark of night was the only time I desperately wanted him there.

As winter dragged on however, a comradeship blossomed. I continued to teach him about hunting and tracking. I taught him survival skills, just in case something ever happened to me. He tried to teach me about art and baking; both difficult to do under the circumstances. Eventually, drawing utensils ran out, and there was nothing to bake with. Once that happened, he tried something else: to help me see the beauty of things. Or at least, see things in a different perspective.

Late in the winter, while we took a break from hunting in the forest, a deer casually strolled past us and stopped 30 feet or so in front of us, digging up some hidden greenery to eat. I aimed my arrow, was ready to fire, when Peeta put a hand on my shoulder.

"Wait," he said breathlessly, eyes never leaving the doe. "Tell me what you see."

"A deer." I replied, confused.

"Ok. But when you look at her, what do you think? What do you see?"

"Food. A hide to be made into something for next winter. Why?" I lowered my bow and looked at him, "What do you see?"

"Look at her. She's beautiful," he explained to me, "a large gentle eye. Soft tan fawn color. Elegant legs and neck. And one more thing." We watched as she glanced around her, then made a soft calling noise. A half grown fawn, still with fading white spots, tumbled awkwardly through the snow towards her. "You just need the right perspective Rayne."

I raised an eyebrow, then looked over at Peeta. He was lost to the world, his mind tracing the scene to his memory. For a moment, my face softened, and I wondered at him, at how he could see these things so easily. As soon as he said them, I wondered why I was not able to see them too. A clump of snow fell from a branch, sending the pair running off between the trees. Peeta snapped out of his trance and looked at me. I scowled, trying to recover, hoping he did not see my previously thawed expression. He grinned; I knew he saw.

"We don't need the meat anyway," I muttered under my breath as I turned back to home.

For months after, I thought about what he said. About needing the right perspective. I tried it out, to see things through his eyes. It was impossible for me to do it alone. Without Peeta there to tell me how things _could_ be, everything that I saw was sorted into two categories: life or death. Deer, rabbits, squirrels meant life for me. Most carnivores were death. The water at the lake was life. The snow storm we waited out could have meant death. The forest was life. Other people were death for me. Perhaps the only thing that did not have a category were the Mockingjays.

"The Districtless had always held the Mockingbird as sacred." I told him one day. The earth was warming up, starting to melt the snow. We were stuck inside, as it was a giant mud hole outside the front door. "Our people said that at night, the stars come out and sing the world to sleep. While all the other birds slept on, the Mockingbirds learned to sing from the lullabies of the stars. They became a symbol of ambition and dreams. So when they had these hybrid offspring, Mockingjays, they were revered as well."

"Even though they were partly from the Capitol?"

"Once the Capitol gave up on the Jabberjays, they no longer could claim any rights over them. They were just another victim of the Capitol, left to fend for themselves and eventually die off. Therefore, Mockingjays belong to no one."

"Kind of like yourself?"

"I guess so." I had never thought of it that way.

"You know, Katniss has a Mockingjay pin." I gave him a curious glance, asked him to describe it, "I'm not sure, I didn't get good look at it. But it's a bird in flight, its wings attaching it to a circle. The mayor's daughter gave it to her. It was her aunt's."

"That's so strange . . ." I trailed off, lost in thought until Peeta asked me what I was thinking. "See, once The Annihilation started . . . the Districtless started using the Mockingjay as a kind of means of communication. The one you described was given as a token of affection. Or in some cases, it was given to an outsider, as proof we could trust them and go to them for help. But there were other tokens too."

"Others?"

"When we were reduced to The Final Six, each tribe made its own Mockingjay token. After each tribe broke apart, each clan got a token, to remind them of who they really were. I don't remember what the others looked like, I never saw them. Our tribe's was a Mockingjay in flight, wings spread out and upward, an arrow clutched in its claws."

"Do you have one with you?"

"No," I suddenly felt embarrassed, though I had no reason to be. "It was taken and destroyed along with all the others when we were captured. The one you said Katniss has, that's first I've heard of any remaining."

"If you want . . . I mean, if it meant that much to your people, I could . . . draw it for you. If you describe it in detail. I mean, I know it's not the same –"

I cut him off with the shaking of my head. I gave him a rueful smile. "It's okay. I've got it up here," I tapped my head, "that's the safest place it could be. I feel like, having it out in the open, where anyone could see would disrespect the memory of the Districtless."

"Maybe now you should make up your own?"

"Maybe," I nodded slowly. "Maybe one day."

I let that thought roll around for weeks. I tried to come up with something that I could use as my own mark. I kept coming up with blanks. In the end, it did not really matter. It was not something pressing and important. It could wait until I was ready.

Spring blossomed. Once the earth dried out and was warmed by the sun, Peeta and I started clearing and planting the gardens. I wanted to get them in before I went back to District 7 to trade for supplies again.

We took a break at the end of the day by the lake. Peeta stretched out his legs in the soft new grass. I sat next to him, shaping tree branches into arrows. Bits of wood shavings flew off here and there, landing at random around us. Peeta picked up a handful and blew them at me, laughing. I swatted them away from my face, trying not to get annoyed with him.

"Rayne, lighten up. You've been in a weird mood lately. Something on your mind?"

"It's time for spring trading at The Hob." I told him. "I'm just thinking about what we need. And what I have to trade with."

"Great. When are we going?"

I frowned at him. "Who's 'we'?"

"I'm coming with you this time Rayne." He insisted.

"Peeta, we've been through this. You can't be seen in the District."

"So I'll wait outside the boundary. I can forage and set traps while you're trading."

"No."

"Why?"

"It's too dangerous."

"I want to come Rayne."

"The answer is no." I snapped.

Suddenly, his face twisted in frustration. He scrambled to his feet, clearly upset, and stormed off back to the house. I sat, stunned at what just happened. Ordinarily, I would have just let him leave. Why should I have to chase after him? But I remembered that we were trying this 'friendship' thing. With a sigh, I stood with my knife and unfinished arrow, and followed him back to the house.

I caught up with him halfway there. "Peeta! Wait."

He whirled around angrily. "What?"

"Peeta, tell me what's wrong."

"Why can't I go?"

"You sound like a child." I snorted.

"Then stop treating me like one!" he shouted.

"It's too dangerous if you come. For both of us."

"Oh, so I'm going to put you in danger? I'm going to screw up like I always do? Is that what you're saying?"

"What is your problem?" I shot back.

"My problem? My problem is you."

"Me? Please do explain then," I replied, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

A heavy sigh, as he realized how ridiculous he sounded. "Ok, so not you. It's just . . . I know what I can and can't do. I can't hunt or use weapons like you. But i want to . . . to protect you."

"Protect me?" my voice softened. I loosened the grip on the pointed stick I was still holding, unaware of how tightly I was holding on.

"You've been taking care of me for almost a year. I just want to return the favour. I want to take care of you for a change. After what happened with that cougar-mutt . . ." he tried to shake the image from his mind, "And you said once that people from a District tried to kill you. But you had someone to protect you then."

I winced at the memory. Peeta realized he should not have brought up Darach, and tried to make his point quickly. "Let me protect you now." He turned his head away and added softly, "Or at least try to."

As much as I wanted to stay mad, I could not. With a sigh, I reached out, put my hand on his shoulder. "Peeta, listen. I appreciate it. I really do. But if anything did happen, it would be better if one of us is still alive. I can't . . . I can't risk your life, like I've risked all those others."

"Ok, but what if –"

"There's no point in worrying about the things that probably won't happen." I said firmly. "You want to take care of me? Take care of yourself. Because I don't know how many more faces I can stand dreaming of at night."

At this point, he knew there was no use arguing. "Fine."

"Don't be like that."

"I'm sorry. You're right."

"If it makes you feel better, every night that I go to sleep safe, I'll sing that laughing song to the Mockingjays, to carry it home to you. If I get into trouble . . . well, if you're listening, you'll know."

"When will you go?" his voice still sounded hurt.

"In a few days." I smiled, "come on. Everything will be fine. Race you to the lake?"

We bolted, matching stride for stride. I was surprised at his speed. I guess I had never noticed he was naturally athletic. But I had the advantage of years of running through the forest. I tried to shake him by weaving between tightly knit trees and leaping over fallen logs. When I looked over, he was still right next to me.

"Have you been practising?"

"Can't talk," he huffed and laughed, "Running."

Once we entered the grassy clearing, I dropped the stick and knife I still held and sprinted to the lake. He fell behind, taken aback by the sudden burst of speed. I came to a stop, balancing precariously on the edge of the water. With a breathless grin, I turned to face Peeta, who was still running at full speed to reach me.

"I won!" I called out. He still charged at me. As he got closer, I saw a mischievous grin form on his face. "Peeta?"

With a shriek, I tried to dodge him, but he tackled me. We went sailing through the air, landing in the cold water. I sputtered up from the dark, drawing in huge breaths of air as I treaded water. "That wasn't funny Peeta."

There was no reply, only a thrashing noise. I looked around. Peeta was just under the surface, desperately trying to stay above water. "Peeta!" I dove back under and pulled him up. He coughed and hacked as I dragged the two of us to the banks of the lake. He pulled himself up, then turned and gave me a helping hand. We collapsed side by side on the ground.

"What kind of stunt was that?"

"I can't swim."

I just glared. "You can't swim so you pull us into the lake?"

"I thought it was a lot shallower," he said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"No, sorry is what you'll be when I toss you back in. you better start running Peeta Mellark."

He stood to run, then turned to me. "Don't I get a head start?"

"no." i replied. As I started to stand, Peeta scooped me up and dumped me back in the water. I surfaced again, spitting out the lake water, wiping it from my eyes. Peeta still stood where he was, grinning, waiting to see my reaction.

I started laughing.


	15. Chapter 15: Fight or Flight

**Thanks everyone for still reading! Here's the action/adventure I've been promising for so long. Read and Review! Don't worry, it's not over yet!**

Chapter 15

I arrived at the boundary for District 7 early in the afternoon. After setting up camp in my favorite perch in the tree, I went out hunting. The sun was just on the horizon when I crawled under the fence and headed towards the Hob. Along the way, I noticed the streets were eerily quiet. No children played on the front porches. The houses themselves were dark.

Even the stray dogs that sometimes scrounged around remained hidden in the shadows. I saw one glaring at me with starving eyes. Ribs protruded. It gave a half whine. I pulled out a rabbit from my game bag and tossed it in the dog's direction. It shied away as it flew through the air, but once it landed, the dog picked it up in it's mouth. When it looked at me again, it snarled, eyes gone savage. There was not a hint of thankfulness in those burning amber orbs.

I frowned, pausing at the entrance to the Hob. I listened and looked carefully; there was no sign of any Peacekeepers anywhere. Cautiously, I opened the door and slipped inside. Once my eyes adjusted to the change of light, I noticed something.

I made my way over to Dom's booth. He saw me coming and fidgeted in his seat. "Huntress."

"Dom." I glanced across the way, "Where's the tailor?"

He shrugged, laughed nervously. "She hasn't been feeling well lately. She decided to take some time off."

I nodded slowly, trying to read him. He was more jittery than usual. He glanced all around the room, looking at everything except me. I traded quickly and he did not even argue over prices. As I packed away the last bag of oats in my satchel, I glanced sharply up at him. That seemingly small movement was enough to make him jump.

"Nervous Dom?"

"No no, fine I'm fine. See you tomorrow."

"But -"

"This booth is closed," he said sharply, picking up his goods and walking away.

Perplexed, I was on my way out when Huldor waved me over. "Ah Huntress, it's good to see you."

"What happened to the tailor?" I demanded.

He gave a lopsided smile, scratched his head. "Hunger Games are starting soon. It's the Third Quarter Quell this year. I wonder what they'll do this year, to . . . keep us in line."

"What are you talking about?"

Glancing around nervously, he leaned across the table and whispered in my ear. "There's been talk of rebellion."

"So? Let them talk."

Quickly he hushed me and shook his head. "District 8 had an uprising. It didn't end so well. But other districts are starting to rebel anyway. The Capitol isn't happy."

"Are they ever?"

"I heard rumor . . ." again he shook his head, and this time smiled. "But never mind that. Just talk. Of course."

I thought he lost his mind. I was about to ask again about the tailor, when something glinted on the table. I looked down, to a glittering piece of gold on top a pile of odds and ends. My mouth dropped open and I gasped. I lifted up the leather cord that held a familiar pendant: a flying Mockingjay carrying an arrow. The mark of my tribe.

"Where did you get this?" my voice quaked as I turned the gold token over in my hands. The feel of it was both foreign and familiar at the same time.

Huldor cleared his throat, leaned in close again. "A Peacekeeper brought it in."

My fingertips went numb, my heart stopped. I looked him square in the eye and asked him outright, "What happened to the tailor?"

He whispered in my ear, "She wanted to protect you." The way he said it sent chills down my spine, and I knew: they killed her and her family. He pressed the necklace into my hands, covered it with my fingers and said urgently, "Run. You have to run now." I hesitated, frozen in place. He took a deep breath and roared in my face, "RUN!"

I spun on my heel and bolted out of The Hob. I pulled the necklace over my head, tucking the pendant down my shirt for safekeeping. All the while, I sprinted back to the boundary. At the fence, a Peacekeeper stepped out of the shadows, not even ten feet to my right. "Stop," he ordered.

I heard the familiar click of the Peacekeeper's weapon. Instinctively, I whirled to face him, and sent my throwing knives flying deep into his chest. His weapon dropped. I ran over and covered his mouth with my hand to muffle the groaning that escaped him. I lowered him to the ground gently, so as not to make noise, and pulled out the knives from his chest.

"Sorry but I'm going to need these," I wiped the blood from them and put them back in place. I heard a noise in the distance, then shouting. I made it under the fence, retrieved my weapons and supplies from the tree, then plunged into the safety of the forest. I ran through the brush. I did not get far when I heard an explosion rock the night. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw plumes of smoke followed by flames reaching up into the sky.

At first I thought they destroyed just The Hob. But the fire's span was too big to be just the one building. _They blew up the entire village._ Mockingjays cried out sharply and burst into the sky, scared of the explosion and smoke. The sound rippled throughout the forest. I knew it would reach Peeta soon. I had no time to lose.

I ran as far and as fast as I could. In the middle of the night however, I had to stop to rest. I found a spot where three or four ancient trees had toppled over almost on top of each other. I tried my best to erase my tracks in the dark, and hid in the tiny space created in the middle of the fallen trees. Cramped, my knees almost up to my chest, I managed to drift off to sleep. I tried not to scream out from my nightmares, knowing that if I was being followed, they would find me.

When I woke it was nearly noon. I stretched out the stiffness from my body and took a sip of water. Carefully, I looked out from my hiding spot, searching the ground and trees for traces of potential stalkers. Finding nothing, I emerged from the trees, and continued my journey back home.

My mind was racing, thinking about what it meant for Peeta and myself if Peacekeepers were following me. We would have to pack up and leave. And we would have to go far from District 7, maybe all the way to Peeta's home district.

At late afternoon, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a branch snapping. I dropped to the ground behind a tree. Heart pounding, I peered up towards the origin of the noise. Hundreds of feet away, also looking out from behind a tree, was Peeta. I sighed in relief. But before I could raise my arm in recognition, another noise caught my attention. This came from above the trees. I looked up, just as a nearby Mockingjay cried out in alarm.

From between the leaves of the trees, I saw the unmistakable shining outline of a Hovercraft materializing. My face paled, and I waved Peeta away, silently begging him to retreat before they saw him. For once he took my advice and snuck away unnoticed. For myself, I had to think fast. To my left, the forest grew densely. I knew it would make it impossible for them to see me from the air. I dropped everything I was carrying except for my weapons and bolted for cover.

The Hovercraft tried to follow my movements, but I was eventually lost between the trees. I heard a whisping noise; a half dozen or so Peacekeepers were coming down on ropes. I travelled as quickly as I could, light-footed and swift. The Peacekeepers stumbled through the dense underbrush, uniforms snagging on thorns and branches, slowing them down. For hours I was able to stay ahead of them, leading them deeper and deeper into the forest.

My lungs were burning from the nonstop trek. Legs aching for rest, but the Peacekeepers were relentless. Just before dusk, there was the sound of people crashing through the forest ahead of me. I glimpsed flashes of white Peacekeeper uniforms. I did a quick count before dropping to the ground to hide. Six in front of me, seven behind. They had me trapped. There was nothing left to do except fight. I crawled over to tightly grown ring of birch trees, crouched in the middle for a moment to catch my breath.

With a final deep breath, I readied my first arrow. I did the mental math: seven arrows, three throwing knives, and my hunting knife. I knew that it would eventually come down to a close fight. My thoughts flew to Peeta for just a moment. _I wonder what he will do when I never make it back._

Swiftly, I scanned the area, aimed for the closest Peacekeeper. Each heartbeat sent a tremor through my hands. I released between these beats. The first arrow hit its mark right in the chest. He fell to the ground, clutching his chest. I took out two more this way. At that point, one nervously opened fire into the forest. I ducked, as bits of moss and wood went flying around my face. I heard yelling, then a single shot. The Head Peacekeeper killed the trigger happy one.

I took aim with a fourth arrow, suddenly noticing how dark the forest had become. The sun had nearly finished setting. Soon, I would not be able to see. I thought back to what I had told Peeta all those months ago: _fight or flight. Once one is no longer viable, I take the other._

In a sudden act of rashness and anger, I stood and fired my remaining arrows one after the other. My pursuers were taken aback by my head on attack, and by the time they were able to regroup themselves, I had taken out all their men except for four. I pulled out my hunting knife, ran out roaring towards the nearest Peacekeeper. I had the blade raised, teeth bared like a cornered animal; all I was waiting for were the bullets to rip through my body. They never came.

Instead, I felt an odd, stinging, burning sensation in my leg. In a few seconds, I lost feeling in it and fell to the ground. I looked down to see a feathered dart sticking out of my thigh. I pulled it out, looking at it closely. Suddenly another dart hit my arm. Before I could pull that one out as well, the world started spinning. I gasped for air, then threw up. My body grew warm and numb. I fell on my back, knife dropped from my hand. I was vaguely aware of someone kicking it away.

In the far off distance, I could hear someone speak, like in a dream. "Call for the Hovercraft."

"Can't sir. It's too dark, the forest is too dense, they say we're on our own for the night."

"Get them to send a message to President Snow. Tell him we found her. Tell him we caught her alive, as he requested."

A blurred face leaned over me, a wicked grin on his face. He rejoiced at my laboured breathing, the fact I could no longer run. I hated that face. Summoning what little strength and agility I had, I pulled out the last throwing knife and lashed out at the face. I heard him howl in pain, drops of red blood fell onto my shirt.

He pried the knife from my now weak grip, lifted me up by my arm. "I will teach you," the deep voice growled. I saw the raised hand. The blow from being back-handed sent the world rocking crazily again. I felt him twist my arm behind my back and heard a loud snap.

Blinding pain seared through my body as he dislocated my shoulder. He laughed coarsely, then dropped me to the ground. The pain from my shoulder mixed with the tranquilizers and impact as I hit the ground made me see stars. Then everything went black.


	16. Chapter 16: A Rescue and A Revelation

**From here it's going to be in third person perspective, because stuff is going to happen that rayne is not necessarily present for. Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 16

The forest was dark and silent at night. It was late. The moon's bright white light failed to penetrate the canopy above. The only source of light came from the dying coals of a poorly made fire in the heart of the forest.

Under this cover of darkness, Peeta crept towards the camp. It was slow going. He wanted nothing more than to run up to them. Instead he travelled at a snail-like pace, every sound he made or heard caused him to freeze in place and hold his breath. While he may have moved so deliberately, his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He was sure that the whole world could hear it.

Finally he came upon the camp. From behind a shadowed tree, he surveyed the scene before him. Four Peacekeepers slept deeply. One snored on in deep even tones. They were spread out around a pitiful fire, where there were whole logs barely charred, refusing to ever catch fire. Across from the dying coals lay Rayne.

Peeta swallowed back his emotion. He had fallen back when Rayne waved him away, returned to the house for weapons and supplies, taking all the food and water he could carry. He had the feeling they would never be coming back. Then he tracked them all through the forest, long into the night. So many scenarios had played out in his mind that day: Rayne being killed by the Peacekeepers; caught and turned into an Avox before committing suicide; or somehow escaping them. And while he prepared himself for the worst, a part of him hoped she had escaped.

But to see her lying here, gagged, hands and feet bound by rope . . . he was not prepared for this.. With newfound stealth, he melted into the shadows and made his way over to Rayne. Cautiously, he tried to wake her. The drugs they gave her were strong. Eventually, her one eye half-opened groggily, but it took a while for it to focus clearly. At first she was jolted awake by fear and started to struggle.

Peeta put his finger to his lips and smiled. Rayne blinked. Through the drugs, she recognized him. He untied her gag and started to cut away the ropes around her wrist and ankles.

"Peeta," she whispered. His hand flew to her mouth, he glanced nervously back at the Peacekeepers. They never stirred.

Rayne understood and remained quiet while he finished cutting away the rope, and helped her to her feet. He nearly buckled; she was a dead weight. She bit her lip to keep from crying out at her dislocated shoulder jostled from Peeta's grip. Somehow Peeta managed to half-drag her a hundred feet away, before tears streamed from her eyes because of the pain. Gently, he sat her down and looked her over.

The leg and arm hit by the dart were still dead numb. There was a small cut above her hairline, and the one side of her face was completely bruised. A black eye had already formed. And of course, her shoulder. . .

"I have to set it." Peeta whispered in her ear. He felt her head nod. He gripped her limp arm. as she braced herself, he said softly, "on three."

Through the dark, he could fairly see her close her eyes and clench her jaw as he counted down. He pulled and pushed in one swift movement, heard the satisfactory pop of her shoulder as it set into place. Rayne's head twitched in response, as she held in the screams threatening to escape her.

Peeta rummaged through a bag, pulled out a flask of water and held it to her lips. After a few small sips, she pushed it away. She spoke in a slurred voice, "We have to keep moving."

Nodding, Peeta helped her to her feet. They dragged on through the forest. It was slow going up and down hills, but just before dawn, the landscape grew rocky. Rivers trickled by, twisting and turning through the rock. Rayne's ears perked up, and through the haze that clouded her thoughts, she could hear it. She tugged at his arm, pointed to where the river wound around a bend. "Waterfall."

The 20 foot falls fell like a thick curtain, hiding the entrance to a cave. Peeta helped Rayne pick her way over the mossy stone and into the cool damp darkness. Once inside, she collapsed into his arms. Gently, he lay her down on the moss, placed his jacket under her head.

In the growing light of day, he was able to examine her more carefully. He noticed a dried slice of blood in her hairline; the only visible wound besides the bruises on her face. "Oh Rayne," he said in a mournful tone, "What did they do to you?"

But she was gone, unable to answer him. So he let her be, in her drug-induced state, and tried to clean her up as best he could. When she woke hours later, Peeta was curled up beside her, dozing lightly.

Rayne's head throbbed painfully, and everywhere on her body ached. She groaned and tried to sit up. The world rocked back and forth for a minute. Peeta felt her move and sat up beside her. "How do you feel?"

Another groan. Rayne squinted at him. "Where . . . where am I?" Peeta told her everything he knew of the previous day's events. Rayne sat with her head between her knees, trying to take it all in. she was vaguely aware he stopped talking after a while. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched her shoulder. "What happened in District 7?"

Words came out of her mouth before she even realized it. "They blew up their Hob. Because they tried . . . tried to protect me. I . . . I was given something . . ." her hands flew to her neck, pulled up her necklace. With blank eyes, she showed it to Peeta. "This. I saw it. I knew I was in danger . . ."

Rayne did not notice, but her hands started to shake uncontrollably. Peeta was unsure whether this was from the drugs wearing off, or the state of shock she was in; perhaps it was even a combination. Prying her fingers off the small metal token, he held her hands in his. She blinked, looked surprised he was there, as if she was actually seeing him for the first time. Relief flooded through him, as he watched the normal Rayne return.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Peeta with a frown. "Hunger Games are starting soon. And there is rumor of . . . of rebellion in the districts."

Peeta regarded her carefully, opening and closing his mouth as if to speak. With a smile, he nodded in agreement. "Really? That's interesting."

"I'm not making this up Peeta. I'm not crazy."

"I'm not saying you are," he hesitated for a moment. "But rebellion . . . that's big. Are you sure you heard right?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

"Ok then. I believe you. But knowing that isn't going to help us right now. You need to rest." As she lay back down, he rummaged through a bag, and pulled out two slim metal containers marked RATIONS. "Here. I took these off the Peacekeepers." He handed her one. Inside were crackers, and dried fruits and meat.

Rayne's head swam as she nibbled a cracker. Peeta watched her, concern filling his face. "Maybe you should just rest."

She nodded, and quietly asked, with a measure of discomposure, "Could you . . . can you stay with me?"

Peeta gave a small smile. It was the first time she had ever _asked_ for him to stay. "Of course." He lay down next to her and before he knew it, she was curled up tightly next to him, her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms possessively around her. In an effort to get her to relax, he traced figure eights on her shoulder. Still, she remained tense, ready to spring.

After a while, her hand gripped the fabric of his shirt. In a shaky voice, she said, "Looks like you got your wish. You've gotten your chance to protect me." Peeta winced at her words. They were not meant to hurt, but they sounded so vulnerable. So unlike Rayne.

"I didn't want it like this Rayne."

"I know." She whispered. "I'm sorry Peeta. I'm so, so sorry."

"For what?"

She really was not sure what she meant. "For getting you into all this I suppose."

Peeta thought for a long time about what she said. He could feel her starting to relax and doze off, but he had to know something. He nudged her awake. "Rayne."

"Yeah Peeta?"

"What did you mean by that? You're sorry for getting me into all this? Are you . . ." He swallowed, painfully afraid of the answer he might receive to his next question. "Are you ever sorry you saved me from the arena?"

The words hung in the air like mist from the waterfall. The cave seemed to grow more cold, damp, and dark. Seconds ticked by; Peeta counted them like heartbeats.

"If you had asked me when I first found you," Rayne proceeded cautiously, thoughts forming gradually, "I would have said that I thought I would be sorry eventually. But I never was. And I don't think I ever will be. Saving you . . . it was the best thing to ever happen to me." She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest to get a better look at him. "Are you sorry?"

"That you saved my life? Of course not."

"No. I mean . . . are you sorry . . . that I took you away from your life? You could have won and gone home. Maybe you could even have found a way to save Katniss . . ."

Peeta was quiet for a long time. He had not expected the question to be turned around on him. Rayne waited, her heart sinking. Finally, Peeta gave her an answer: "At first . . . I was upset. Well, you remember. The arguments you used to have with me about it. But now I'm not. In fact, I would have to agree with you: it's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Even if it's led us to this?"

"Especially since it's led us to this." He repeated firmly. "Because I feel like I've been given a whole new life. And I'd rather spend whatever is left of my life now taking care of you, than back at District 12, alone."

For the first time in a long time, Rayne felt something stir in her heart. And as much as she wanted to crush the feeling, to stop it dead in its tracks, she could not. It frightened her a bit, this sudden loss of control. Yet, she wished Peeta would continue talking. The things he was said left her wanting to hear more. While her heart burned, her lips lay still. She put her head back down on his chest and tried to sleep.

Peeta watched her pretend to sleep, but never let on that he knew she was faking it. His eyes trailed down her bruised face. Gently, he pulled her hair away from her eyes. The gesture made her twitch. She took in a few deep breaths. He stared at her parted lips.

Despite the gravity of their situation – or perhaps because of it – he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. This revelation surprised him. Because he never gave much thought to how he felt about Rayne. What were they, really? Allies? Comrades? Partners? Yes, they were all those things, and yet they were now enough to describe.

Companions by circumstance? That left a terrible taste in his mouth and he rejected it immediately. Friends? He glanced at her, dozing on him. How far they had come in their friendship, where she trusted him so deeply. Where they protected each other. Where they needed each other. What came after such a friendship?

Love.

And now he was caught, totally unaware. He never realized how gradually these feelings had crept up on him and now had him in an ambush. He was going to take his time adjusting to this knowledge.

In the mean time, he was not going to say anything to Rayne. He knew how she would react to an ambush.


	17. Chapter 17: District 10

**I just recently finished reading all the books. So good! And as a result, I've hit some writer's block. Please be patient! Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment!**

Chapter 17

They travelled under the cover of darkness for five nights. It was an unspoken agreement that it was too dangerous to travel in daylight. When they did stop to sleep, they took cover in caves and high up in trees. But by the sixth night, the land around them could no longer provide any cover.

Rayne had noticed the change from rocky forest to flat grasslands. Armed with her bow, she led Peeta along the edge of the forest which bordered the sea of grass. For the last two nights, there had been no sign of the Peacekeepers that had followed them so relentlessly. They must have thought they would press deeper into the forest, away from the open sky. Rayne's body no longer ached from the abuse she had taken. And under Peeta's tender care, her cuts and bruises healed, leaving only the faint shadow of a black eye still behind.

Food had become scarce and the going was hard, but Peeta never complained. He was too happy to have Rayne back, and was filled with a sense of purpose: to protect her. Deep down inside however, he was in a turmoil of emotions, trying to reconcile himself to his newfound feelings for her. These he continued to keep to himself. There was no use saying anything until they were both out of harm's way, safely installed in some far corner of Panem to be left alone once again.

Rayne's thoughts were following a completely different train. As her eyes scanned the open fields and suddenly sparse forest, she started to worry. Where would they hide? What would they eat? Her throat became thick with thirst as she realized there were no water sources to be seen. Casting a quick glance at Peeta, she motioned to him to keep on going. They would go as far as they could that night and see where they ended up.

A few hours before dawn they came to an electric fence marking the boundary of District 10. A humming noise confirmed that the fence was charged. They followed the fence line, carefully looking for any openings they could use to get in. they had just found a break in the fence – it looked like many animals used this portion as a game trail – and were debating what to do when Peeta noticed a light flashing back in the forest. He nudged Rayne; she looked where he pointed, her face paled slightly.

Rayne stood there, and when Peeta looked at her again, he saw for just a moment, the Rayne he had first met. A wild animal backed into a corner, teeth bared, ready to right. Except Peeta knew that with him there, it would be a battle they would both lose. On her own, without him to get in the way or to worry about, she would have a fighting chance. He knew he would protect her as best he could. But if it came down to it, she would have to choose between herself and him. He was not ready to give her the ultimatum just yet.

Instead, he grabbed her hand and ran, pulling her through the hole in the fence. They raced wordlessly as fast as they could across the field. Behind them, the waist high grass closed over their trail and it was as if they had never even been there. In the distance on both sides were huge farming buildings. Soon they came to another fence, smaller and made of wood. They hopped over it easily and raced over to a lone standing tree. Its branches were too high up to climb, so they collapsed in the shadows at its base, gasping for air.

"We can't keep running," Peeta panted. "We have to hide."

Rayne looked around them, her throat feeling raw from the run. There were a few buildings not too far away, but Rayne distrusted their sterile metallic exterior. They looked like they could become a trap. "Not in those Peeta."

Peeta sat up, brushed the sweat and hair from his eyes so he could get a better look. "What about that?"

Rayne looked to where he was pointing. It was a small building that sat on the horizon, barely visible because it was so far from them. Two or three trees were scattered around it. it was along the edge of the district, away from the shiny new buildings where they now stood. Rayne nodded and checked to see that the coast was clear. "Ready?"

Peeta gave a breathless nod, and together, they dashed from the shadows into the moonlight field. They jumped fence after fence. As they neared the building, their pace became laboured, breathing ragged. The grass had steadily grown longer and as now above their waist. It slowed them down, and soon, Rayne was ahead of Peeta by a half dozen strides. She was turning to look over her shoulder at him, to call out some encouragement, when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something strange about the grass in front of her. It seemed to thin and dip. Before she knew it, she stepped down into a hole, her ankle twisting underneath her. She heard Peeta shout her name as she fell and was swallowed up by the grass.

Sharp pain shot up her leg as she pulled it out of an animal's abandoned burrow. As Peeta raced towards her, she tried to move, testing to see what the damage was. It felt like a bad sprain. As she clutched it, trying to keep it stable, Peeta reached her.

"I think I sprained my ankle."

Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. "Come on, I'll help you." Carefully, he helped her up and they hobbled to the run-down barn ahead.

Inside, it was dark, except for the few bits of moonlight that streamed in between the warped wooden boards of the walls. There were six stalls, all empty, the animals that once lived in them were long gone, and the building now served as a storage barn for extra squares of hay and straw. Peeta spread out a thick layer of straw on the floor of one of the stalls. He sneezed from the dust. Rayne hopped over and gently lowered herself to the ground. She permitted herself a sigh of relaxation as she rested on the sweet, clean straw.

Peeta plunked down next to her after he stashed their weapons in the corner. "Do you know how nice it is to be able to take off these boots?"

Rayne shook her head, trying to suppress a smile as he tugged his boots off, then went to work on hers. Tenderly, he looked over her now swollen ankle. "That's going to take a few days."

"I'm so stupid," she muttered.

"For what, not seeing the hole? How could you?"

"I should have known . . ."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

Annoyed, she rubbed her face. "Don't even start Peeta . . ."

"Fine then. You are stupid. You should have seen that gigantic hole in the ground. How could you have missed it?" He replied sarcastically.

She bristled at his comment, then realized how ridiculous she sounded. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . Peeta, we don't have a few days to spare. We barely have one."

"Doesn't matter." He sighed, lay down next to her, using his arms as his pillow. "We're not going anywhere until you can walk normally."

"Peeta –"

"No arguments," he snapped.

Rayne was taken aback by his response. "Since when did our friendship become a dictatorship?"

"That's not what –"

"You get it into your head that you want to protect me, and this is how you do it? By putting yourself in jeopardy? It's me they want Peeta. I can take care of myself," was her arrogant reply.

But underneath her veil of self-assurance, Peeta could hear the vulnerability. He chose his next words carefully, "I know you can. But I had told you before: I want to take care of you. I want to protect you. I'm trying to, except you're making it really hard."

"Oh really?" She challenged.

"You don't know how to let someone else take charge. I'm trying, but you're fighting me every step of the way. And I realize that is what you do, that is how you've survived. Just let go, just this once?" silence was the reply, so he continued, "Remember that one night, when we talked about 3 things that shaped us?"

"Apologies, loyalty, love." Rayne whispered in the dark.

"That night, I made you a promise. I'm not going to leave you. I'm not going anywhere, unless you're with me. I plan on keeping that promise, for as long as we are both alive. So when I say that we're not going anywhere until you can walk again," he concluded emphatically, "it means I'm not leaving your side until we both can go. Together. If that means putting my own life in jeopardy, then so be it."

Rayne was quiet for a long time. So quiet, Peeta thought she had fallen asleep. Just as he was starting to drift off into a deep, much needed sleep, she said something.

Peeta did not catch what she said, and tried to be more alert. "What was that?"

In a soft voice, she asked, "Why did you come back for me Peeta?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When I was caught by the Peacekeepers . . . I waved you away, tried to draw their attention away from you. you must have had some idea of what would happen to me. And still you came back for me. Why?"

Peeta's heart pounded in his ears. The question he had been dreading. _What do I tell her? _ In the darkness, he could just make out the expression on her face: curious, expectant, nervous. Kind of like himself. "I had to know for sure what happened to you. I would have gone crazy not knowing. And if I didn't try to save you . . . I don't think I could have lived with myself."

"That's all?"

He chuckled nervously, noting the hopefulness in her voice. "Well you saved me more than once." He tried to keep it light and teasing. It was only after Rayne's silence, he wondered if that was the right thing to do. "Rayne?"

"That's it huh? Just another debt to pay?" hurt filled her voice.

"What? Rayne, no that's not –"

She turned away from him, laying on her side with her back to him. While she was determined to ignore him, he was just as determined to make things right. "I didn't mean it. I didn't even mean it like that. Did you understand what I said the first time? Maybe I should put it this way: I would have gone crazy without you. I wouldn't have been able to live without you. That's why I came back. Because I need you."

A slight twitch in her shoulder; Peeta knew that she heard him, but her continual avoidance irritated him. "You know what, we're both tired so let's just go to sleep. And maybe in the morning, we should just pretend this never happened." Just as he turned away from her, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cringe at the harshness of his words. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, from holding on to her emotional roller coaster ride. He did not say anything further. This was something no amount of explaining could make better. She would have to figure it out herself.


	18. Chapter 18: Arguments and Metaphors

**Thanks for reading. Please feel free to leave comments. **

Chapter 18

Peeta felt something tapping his leg. At first, he tried to ignore it, unwilling to open his eyes and break the deliciously deep sleep he was in. It was insistent though, and soon turned from tapping to a firm nudge. He groaned, squinting in the bright sunlight that streamed in through the cracks in the wall. Some shuffling, and when Peeta's eyes finally focused, he was staring at the wicked point of his hunting knife.

An elderly man was holding him at knife point. The rest of their weapons were being clutched nervously by the man's wife, who stood in the doorway of the stall. Slowly, Peeta sat up, so as not to wake Rayne. At first glance, the man appeared very self assured, ready to spring upon them at any moment. As Peeta looked closer however, he noticed the man's hands trembled nervously, fear flickering in his hazel eyes.

"Um, hi." Peeta smiled uncomfortably.

The man was clearly taken aback by this relaxed response. It took him a second to regain his composure. "Who are you?"

He opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly, Rayne's words from so long ago echoed through his mind. _I don't exist anymore. No one can know I'm still alive. _Instead, he tried to plead. "Please, we were just looking for a safe place to spend the night. We didn't think that anyone still used this place. Please, just let us go and you will never see us again."

"Where did you get these weapons? It's illegal to have them."

"We don't want any trouble. Please –"

"No trouble? Is that why there were Peacekeepers up all night looking for you?" he demanded.

His wife cast a glance around nervously and whispered, "Leon, please."

"Not now Roza!"

Peeta felt Rayne stir, slowly waking from the noise. On the defense, he shifted his body, using it to shield them from her sight if she did wake. "Leon, is it? Listen, my friend is hurt and we were hoping to hide for a few days until she is better. But if you want us to go, we will go today." He glanced behind him and groaned inwardly as Rayne moaned. "Please, at least just drop the weapons."

"Why?"

"Because you're not going to like what happens next."

"Peeta?" Rayne murmured. She rose to a sitting position, tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. Leon and Roza froze into place, weapons still in hand. Rayne blinked a few times, her mind trying to register what was happening. When her eyes fell on the knife in Leon's hand she snapped to attention, suddenly wide awake. She became pure reaction.

Even though Peeta knew what she would do, it happened so fast he was powerless to stop it. Like lightening, she lunged at Leon, knocking him over. With a quick flick of her wrist she took back the knife, pinning him to the ground, holding the blade against his throat. She was vaguely aware of the old woman screaming in the background.

Leon's eyes went wide with fear; he became paralyzed and mute from it. "Don't you dare touch him!" she hissed, before telling Peeta to run.

Instead, he scrambled to his feet and pulled Rayne off Leon. "Get off!" Rayne was so surprised at this, she offered no resistance as he took the knife from her and set her on the straw like a misbehaving five year old. "Sit down! Will you let me handle this please?"

Peeta turned back to Leon, who was still sputtering on his back, rubbing his neck. Roza was hiding behind the heavy stall door, trembling, but with a strange look of curiosity. Knowing the damage he would have to undo, he put on his most winning smile. "I'm so sorry about that. But in all fairness, I warned you."

"What . . . what is she?" Leon asked, still in a state of shock after what happened. Rayne fairly growled at his words, but remained still and quiet. The sudden rush of motion made her ankle throb again, but she was not about to let them see she was weak.

"My friend. But don't worry about her. She won't hurt you." Peeta glanced back at her, gave her a solemn look. She pursed her lips, glaring back at him, before looking resolutely away. A begrudging agreement. "Please just let us go and we will be on our way. Within the hour if you want."

"You're not going anywhere until you answer some questions young man." Leon stood and brushed off his dusty work pants. "Where are you from?"

"That doesn't matter anymore."

"Fine then. Where are you going?"

"We don't know yet." Peeta laughed inwardly at how crazy he must sound.

"You're not from this District, are you?" Leon eyed them suspiciously when Peeta remained silent. "How did you get in here? How did you get those weapons? Are you the ones the Peacekeepers are looking for?"

While Peeta considered how much to reveal about them, Rayne stood and went over to him, trying not to limp. She put a hand on his shoulder, and said quietly, "Don't tell them anything Peeta."

Roza must have heard them from her spot behind the door. Realization dawned on her lined face. Tentatively, she stepped into the stall and took a better look at Peeta. "I knew it! I thought you looked familiar! I knew I had seen you somewhere before!"

Peeta frowned, trying to place the old woman. But he knew he had never seen her before. He had never really left District 12 before, so it near impossible he would know her. Roza's words put Rayne's defenses up, and she stepped protectively in front of Peeta.

Roza just continued to point at him, a small smile of excitement forming. "You're Peeta Mellark."

"I'm sorry?"

"I thought I recognized you. From the games. Last year's Hunger Games. You were a tribute. You're from District 12. They said . . . you died in the arena." She stepped towards him staring in disbelief. Rayne bared her teeth and snarled loudly, the only defense she had left. Roza stopped in her tracks, spoke hesitantly, "How are you still alive?"

"It's thanks to her, actually." Peeta nodded at Rayne. She spun around, aghast that he was still talking to them. Gently, he looked her in the eye and pulled her into a tight hug. She squirmed against his grip, while he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. His eyes never left the old couple as he spoke softly, "it's too late to hide me now. They know me. Just trust me."

While still in his embrace, she lifted the knife out his belt loop, and whispered back, "Only if I take this."

Leon, now standing, cleared his throat, causing them to break apart. Rayne stood in the corner, watching them, twirling the knife around in her hands. A scowl formed on her face as Peeta took a step to the older couple.

"My friend here saved me." he started cautiously, unsure of how much he should be telling them. He decided to keep it vague. "We were living peacefully away from everything. Then we were attacked by the Peacekeepers. We had to run. We've been running for days and needed to stop because she hurt her ankle."

Roza took a long look at the two runaways. Covered in dirt and mud; straw was sticking out of the girl's hair. Their clothing was torn and dirty. In both their eyes was the gaunt look of hunger.

Leon's voice interrupted his wife's thoughts. "Where were you planning on running to?"

"Anywhere we could go. We were hoping to make it to a far corner of Panem, where we could stay for longer. Or maybe The Wilds, which I've heard so many rumors about."

"Go to 13." Roza suddenly burst. Everyone's reactions were different: Leon was clearly uncomfortable; Peeta surprised; Rayne eyed her suspiciously. "District 13. You should go there."

"But everyone knows that it's been destroyed." Peeta protested.

Roza shook her head. "There's rumors going around –"

"Honey . . ." Leon's tone was a warning.

"There's people there. Hiding. There have been others who have run away there."

"That's enough Roza!" Leon spoke sharply and pushed his way past his wife toward Peeta. He stopped short when Rayne also moved threateningly towards him.

"Just give me a reason." She hissed.

"I want you and whatever she is, off my property!" Leon kept a wary eye on Rayne as he spoke. "I'm not going to have Peacekeepers snooping around, asking questions."

"But Leon –"

"You know what they'll do to us if they find them here."

"But what will they do to them?" Roza demanded. A shift in her demeanor made Peeta and Rayne unconsciously take a step back. "They're going to stay right here Leon." When he opened his mouth to protest, her voice went cold and firm, "They are going to stay as long as they need to. On one condition." She turned her attention back to the two trespassers. "You go to 13." Peeta nodded in compliance; Leon just groaned.

"Roza . . ."

She ignored him, holding out her hands to Peeta and Rayne with a sad smile. Peeta took it. Rayne stubbornly refused, but Roza did not push her. Already she was figuring out the dynamics of their strange relationship. "You two just rest. We'll bring you some food."

Leon and Roza left, returning the weapons they held captive. The bow and arrow never left Rayne's side once she had it back. Peeta helped her settle back down in the straw before sitting next to her.

"I don't like this Peeta."

"I know, but what else can we do?"

"We could just leave." Rayne shrugged.

"You heard what they said: there are Peacekeepers all over the place. You can't walk."

"I've been through worse."

"And we're starving." Peeta added. "We need to stop. If only for a day or two. Maybe by then, the Peacekeepers will have moved on, and we can make our way to District 13."

"You're not serious." Even as Rayne spoke, she saw his head tilt, jaw set, and knew she was in for a debate. "We're not going to 13."

"Why not?"

"There is nothing there Peeta."

"How do you know? What if Roza is right? What if there are people still there, hiding after all these years?"

"And what if there's not? What if we get there and there's nothing? We'd have wasted our time, our supplies, and our energy." Rayne frowned. "I don't trust them Peeta."

"I know you don't –"

"I'm not going to 13."

"Rayne . . ."

"I'm not going Peeta." She snapped.

After a few seconds of quiet, Peeta tested her out. "I think we should go." When she did not budge, he tried again. "I am going Rayne. With or without you. But I would rather go with you."

She looked at him curiously. "No you're not." He just smiled ruefully. Emotions started to rise in her throat: anger, disbelief, panic. "You wouldn't go without me."

"I want to do what's best for us –"

"There you go again!"

"What?"

Rayne gave a frustrated sigh instead. Again, she was not sure what she meant, but she still did not like Peeta making decisions for her. For 'them'.

"Are we going to go through this again Rayne?" Peeta ground his teeth, trying to keep his patience. "I told you last night, I want to protect you. I think that going to 13 is the best way to protect you."

"You also said you'd never leave me." she retorted, "if you plan on going there by yourself anyway, then I guess that makes you a liar."

"Well you were all ready to leave me. You didn't want me to put myself in danger. You said, 'I can take care of myself'."

"What about our 3 things: apologies, loyalty, love? I guess you never meant that."

"And you mustn't of either since you think I'm with you to pay off a debt." Peeta spat bitterly.

"Since that's apparently the case, I think we're about even now. So why don't you just leave for 13 without me!"

"Why won't you let me have an opinion?

"Because you've already made the decision for both of us."

With a frustrated sigh, Peeta shot back, "Why can't you just let go for once and trust me?"

Roza and Leon had been standing there, watching them fight, for a while. In the heat of their argument, they were oblivious to their audience, until Roza cleared her throat. They both jumped and fell silent, each glaring at the floor in the opposite direction of the other.

The air hung heavy with a veil of awkwardness around the older couple, while the younger pair brewed a lightning storm. Roza tried to clear the air. "Um . . . we brought you some things."

Leon put down a large metal trough in the next stall over. "I'll . . . I'll show you where the water pump is in here. So you can have a bath."

Peeta stood to follow him. As he did so, Rayne reached out at touched his arm. He turned questioningly; she gave him back his hunting knife. "Just in case," she muttered, trying to keep the concern out of her voice.

With them men at the other end of the barn, Roza slowly approached Rayne. "Here, we brought you some clothes and towels and blankets. And some food." She placed the bundles of fabric off to the side, before spreading a table cloth out on the floor. From a basket, she unpacked some bread, a few slices of cheese, and a couple hard boiled eggs. Next came cups and plates. While she unpacked, she could feel Rayne's eyes on her, watching her every move. Roza tried to break the tension.

"You know, that was quite the fight you two had," she chuckled, "I haven't heard anything that bad since . . . well since Leon and I were your age. Ah, to be young and in love."

"We're not . . ." Rayne trailed off, unsure of how to finish her thought.

"You two aren't . . . together?" When Rayne shook her head, confused, Roza just smiled. "You had me fooled."

"How? All you did was hear us fight." Realization slowly dawned, and she added softly, almost to herself, "That's been happening a lot lately."

"Well every relationship – er, friendship," she quickly corrected herself when she saw the look on Rayne's face, "has its ups and downs. They fluctuate and change. Besides, every bull has it's horns."

"What?"

Roza laughed at herself for letting the old saying slip. "Oh sorry. That's an expression we have around these parts. Every bull cattle has a set of horns. They don't use them – often. Only once in a while when there is a . . . disagreement. But even though they aren't used, they still have them."

"So you're saying that Peeta and I are bulls? And we fight sometimes?"

"Lordy no!" She laughed out loud this time, "dear, you and him, you're the horns. Two separate horns stuck together side by side on the same bull. Sometimes you forget why you're there. But when something happens, and the bull is threatened, both horns are called into action." Rayne's continued blank stare made her laugh again. "You two are the horns. The bull is your relationship, or friendship, or whatever is going on with you two."

"So when something is threatening our friendship, we snap out of it and defend it?"

"More or less."

"What happens if we're the ones threatening it?" Peeta's voice asked behind them.

Roza glanced over her shoulder, and motioned for Peeta and Leon to join them. As they settled – Leon next to Roza, Peeta next to Rayne – Leon said gruffly, "Then you've got yourself into a real pickle. Now let's eat."

The two older farms watched at Peeta and Rayne stuffed themselves with what little food they brought. Once satisfied, they drank cupfuls of the cold water from the barn, until they could hold no more.

Peeta groaned and lay down. "Thank you for that."

Leon cleared away the dishes. Roza watched the younger pair. Peeta unconsciously reached over and fiddled with Rayne's braid as he closed his eyes and relaxed. Rayne tensed, her mind cluttered with the angry words of their argument, and Roza's interesting metaphor. Conflicting feelings coursed through her.

With a sigh, Roza said gently to them, "I heard once, these wise words: if you fight like an old married couple, talk like best friends, and protect each other like siblings, then maybe it's meant to be." They both looked at her curiously, so she continued, "you two sure can fight, I'll give you that. And you must be best friends if you're still together after all you've been through – whatever you've been through. And I don't think I've ever seen two people protect each other the way you do."

"I guess that sounds like us." Peeta mumbled.

"That's what Leon and I are like too." Roza smiled. "So I'll tell you right now, from personal experience, that whatever it is you're fighting about now, you'll work it out. You're both so fiercely loyal to each other, it has to. So whatever you two are, it's meant to be."

"Or it's just chance." Rayne quickly suggested.

Roza gave her a steady, knowing look. It pierced through to her inmost self, and seemed to read Rayne's entire history. Perhaps that is why her next words felt as if they had a double meaning: "In _this_ world, there are no such things as accidents."


	19. Chapter 19: Loss of Control

**Thanks for being so patient. Sorry it's taking so long. Please continue to leave comments! Thanks to everyone who is reading :)**

Chapter 19

After breakfast, Roza and Leon left the old barn and its new inhabitants, promising to return later that day with supper. Once they were gone however, the silent tension between Peeta and Rayne started to grow once again. Rayne brewed over the morning's various conversations, trying to make sense of everything she heard: District 13, fighting with Peeta, bulls with horns . . . and that last bit. About how they were 'meant to be'. What on earth did that mean?

Even Peeta was frustrated with Rayne. He thought back to how things were before, scanning his memories for the moment when things had changed between them. As he looked at her now – brooding, fierce, exposed – he tried to find traces of the Rayne he loved best. Because there were so many sides to her, and yes, he loved all those faces she put on. But the one he loved most was the one he could no longer find: the one laughing in the forest with the birds, laughing in the snow, laughing by the lake. That girl was gone. There was no more laughter in her eyes, only dark, troubled shadows.

Thinking back, Peeta realized the starting point of this gradual change between them. The point when they went from being friends to fighting like cats and dogs. It started in the cave, their first night on the run. That was the night he realized he loved her.

"I'm going to fill the tub." Peeta stood and disappeared out the stall. Rayne never raised her eyes off the floor. Peeta wanted a moment to think, but he needed noise. The silence between them was unbearable.

He pumped the heavy metal handle, filling a bucket full of water, then bringing it to the tub in another stall. He dumped it in, and journeyed back to the pump, repeating the process until it was near full. While he drew the water, he tried to recall what had happened between them that night.

_I told her that I would rather take care of her than be alone back home. She pretended to sleep, I wanted to kiss her . . . ok, farther back. What happened before? _Peeta frowned in concentration. _She said she was sorry. Wait, Rayne never apologizes! She had said, 'looks like you got your wish, you get to protect me'. _

With a sudden burst on inspiration, Peeta tried reliving that night through Rayne's eyes. _She had just been captured and beaten by Peacekeepers. I rescue her, we hide. She seemed not herself when she said that. She seemed . . . vulnerable. _He remember what she looked like just now – that open exposed look on her face – and slowly it all started coming together. _She feels helpless. The encounter with the Peacekeepers reminded her she's not invincible. It showed her how much she had changed from how she used to be. She's scared. The sudden loss of control she's experienced lately frightens her._

With this new knowledge, Peeta wanted nothing more than to run to her, kiss her, and tell her he understood. He hesitated. Would telling her he knew only make it worse? Would it make her feel more threatened, the fact that he knew this fault of hers?

When he popped his head over the stall door and saw her curled up in a tight ball, facing the door, he decided against it. At least for the moment. Instead, he approached her quietly. She could still hear him walking on the straw, and glanced up quickly. Peeta felt a pang of pity at the sight of her. She looked so tired. Of everything, and especially the conflict between them, as well as the one going on in her head.

"I filled the tub for you." He extended his hand out to her, "Need a hand up?"

The look in her bloodshot eyes would have made anyone else shrink back in fear. Unfurling herself, she struggled to her feet herself, in the end, using her bow as something to lean on. She passed him, giving the cold shoulder.

Just as she went past him, he gave a small smile and mumbled, "Goodness, you're so –"

"So what Peeta?" She snapped and turned on him, eyes flashing sparks of lightning. "Filthy? Dirty? Ugly? Monstrous? What Peeta?"

Her explosion took him back for just a second. After living with her for a year, however, his recovery rate had sped up. Instead, he kept that smile on his face and said, "Pretty. I was going to say pretty."

Now it was Rayne's turn to be surprised. She opened her mouth to lash out again, but found herself speechless. Peeta cautiously reached out and rubbed a dirty spot on her cheek with his thumb, relieved that he was able to diffuse the tension. She flinched under his touch, but did not move away – that was always a good sign. Her head swam, a thousand emotions racing through her mind. So with a sigh, her lips twitched into a half smile, and she managed to whisper out, "Oh."

They stayed like that for a moment longer, before Rayne said, "I think I should take that bath now." She rounded the corner into the next stall, then paused and looked at Peeta through the bars. "No peeking," she managed a small grin.

Peeta nodded, smiling, and sunk down into the straw. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sounds of the water as she cleaned up. After she finished and came back, wearing the clean change of clothes Roza had brought, Peeta went to change the water for his own bath. While he was gone, Rayne took this time to think.

She hated the fact they were fighting so much. Well, maybe not so much _fighting. _But they were heated disagreements nonetheless. Things between them had been going so smoothly for so long. And now . . . why the change?

A part of her knew that it was because of her nature. How many times had she told Peeta herself that she was . . . volatile? Really though, she knew that she was scared. _Oh how Peeta would laugh, _she snorted. _The unfeeling Rayne has finally met her match. She's finally found out what she is most afraid of: a baker's son. _The idea would have made her laugh out loud, except she came to a sudden realization: he already figured it out for himself.

Although, it was not entirely true. Rayne was not scared of Peeta. Nervous, perhaps, about letting him make decisions without her. But with the issue at hand – whether or not to go to District 13 – all her instincts were telling her to run as far as she could from there. Maybe because that was what she was used to.

When Peeta came back, clean and changed, the awkward silence persisted. Only the anger was drained from it, replaced with fatigue, both physical and mental. Rayne longed to say something, yet words escaped her. Silently, she hoped that Peeta would be the first speak.

Peeta watched her carefully from his corner. Finally, he said, "So . . . we're just horns on a bull?" This produced a small smile, tugging at the corner of Rayne's lips, so Peeta continued, "I don't like the way we left things. Can we talk about it?"

Rayne leaned back against the wall, replied in a small voice, "Okay."

"I still _think_ we should go to 13." He saw her stiffen, that cold hard look entered her eyes. Quickly he added, "Let me tell you why. First, I promised Roza to go in exchange for their help. Second, I don't think anyone would look for us there. Especially not the Peacekeepers. Third, where else would we go?"

"We could go anywhere Peeta."

"I know. But it seems as good a place as any. We know how to get there, it's not like we're wandering around Panem looking for a reasonably safe place to hide. And who knows," he shrugged, "maybe Roza is right. Maybe there are people there."

"That's exactly why I don't want to go!" Rayne blurted out furiously. "What if there are people there? Who are these people? Why are they still hiding? What if it's the Capitol's new base for training Peacekeepers?"

"What if it's hiding the rebellion?" Peeta countered. "Remember at District 7? You said that there was rumor of an uprising."

"And if it is full of rebels, what would they do with us? Welcome us with open arms? What if they think we're spies? And if they think we're being followed by Peacekeepers, do you think they'd want us around a rebel operation? Besides, that's not my only reason," Rayne ignored his previous comment and desperately tried to make up another reason. "You know me Peeta. I can survive. I can sense a trap. This has 'trap' written all over it."

"What do you mean?"

"I still don't trust them. The farmers."

"Leon and Roza?"

Rayne nodded. "They know the Peacekeepers are looking for us. They know what the Peacekeepers will do to them if the find out they've been hiding us. Why wouldn't they turn us over? Why would they help us?"

Peeta sighed heavily, "Rayne, remember that time we talked about having faith in humanity?" Mild surprise registered in Rayne's face; that day in her hillside home seemed like decades ago. "Not everyone is like that. You have to trust them."

Resolutely, she shook her head. Peeta tried a different approach, "Do you trust me?"

Here she hesitated. The seconds ticked by. As they did so, Peeta's expression slowly changed to one of hurt. Rayne could see it reflected in his eyes. She wanted to put him out of this pain. Instead, she said, "I did."

The words flew out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. But she had to be honest. If it came down to choosing between trusting Peeta and trusting her gut instinct . . . well, there was only one choice. She had survived for so long following her instincts. And they had done well by her. With Peeta, however, that's when she tended to get into scrapes. _But he's always been there to get you back out,_ a new, nagging voice in her head nudged her. What was this? Her conscience?

The effect of her words on Peeta was immediate. Rayne had never seen this look before, not even on the many occasions she tried to kill him. With the words out, hanging like a sign in the air, there was no way for her to make it better. All he said was, "I see." He tried to keep the emotions out of his voice – anger, grief, disbelief, heartache – but they were so many and so strong, they made Rayne flinch. In her own heart, she was too busy trying to control her own feelings, beating them down with cold logic. Despite this, she was still able to see a tear well up in Peeta's eye.

At that moment, they heard Leon and Roza enter the barn. Hastily, they tried to compose themselves. Peeta used his palm to wipe his face, Rayne tried to act natural. When Roza looked at them though, she knew things were not any better. They sat on opposite sides, refusing to look at each other, yet pretending everything was alright. Roza sighed inwardly, before smiling and trying to play along.

"Well you two, don't you look fresh as buttercups! How about some supper?"

They ate mechanically, never talking unless asked a question by their hosts. Even Leon was able to pick up on the tension, and tried, for the sake of his wife, to keep up his side of the conversation. When District 13 was mentioned, however, he clammed up.

"Where is 13, compared to where we are?" Peeta asked casually.

"Go straight out east, then up, past your own district," Roza replied. She noted the hardened look in Rayne's face once she heard Peeta's question.

"How far is that from here?"

"Oh, who knows? A few weeks? A month or so? I'm not really sure."

"How do you know that people are there? I mean, how are you so sure?"

"She's not," Leon snapped and stood angrily. "They're just rumors. Rumors Roza!" With that he stormed out of the barn.

"Why does he get so upset when you talk about 13?" Rayne asked. Both her and Peeta were shocked to see tears well up in her eyes.

"You know how it is with men . . ." she tried to laugh it off, her voice trembling as she wiped away tears. "Actually . . . it's more than just rumors. Our . . . our son left here for 13. Many years ago."

"You have a son?" Rayne asked again, momentarily confused.

Roza nodded sadly, "Yes. He left, or ran away I guess you could say, to find refuge in District 13. That was . . . so many years ago. We haven't heard from him since."

"How do you know if he's even still alive?" Rayne blurted out, shooting a glance at Peeta, "I mean, how do you know he even made it to 13? And if he did, how do you know he's alive and he found everything he was looking for?"

"I just . . . I just know he did." with a mournful smile, she added, "I mean . . . I hope he did."

"Hope." Rayne repeated, dumbfounded at the idea.

"Listen you two, and listen very carefully. Around these parts, it's hope that keeps us going. Hope that we'll make it through the day. Hope that things will change one day, for all of us in Panem. Hope that life will be better for those we leave behind." She closed her eyes and nodded to herself. "Hope is a powerful thing. My hope rests in District 13. Because my son believed in it enough to risk his life for it. That's why I'm telling you to go there. It's . . . it's a symbol of hope."

A defeated sigh escaped her as she let this knowledge sink into her listeners. When she opened her eyes again, a new kind of sadness filled them, as she asked the question to which she already knew the answer: "How's everything with you two?"


	20. Chapter 20: A Choice

Chapter 20

Later that evening, when Rayne was stirred and woken by her nightmares, for once, Peeta's arms were not there to chase the nightmares away. She tossed and turned fitfully, frustrated at herself for so many reasons. Finally, she crawled over to where Peeta lay, on the other side of the stall, and curled up in a tight ball next to him. Sleep still refused to come, so she stared blankly into the darkness ahead, momentarily comforted by the heat from Peeta's body warming her back.

She thought about Roza and Leon who had come after the sun had set. Roza explained that Peacekeepers were interrogating everyone in town. Roza and Leon lied to them, denied knowing anything about two runaways. The Peacekeepers believed them and moved on. Still, the news had not sat well with Rayne and Peeta. Time was running out.

On his side, Peeta was also feigning sleep. He tried not to move in surprise when Rayne sidled up next to him. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her, like he had done so many times before. Rayne's words from that afternoon still echoed and ached. After all this time, she still did not trust him. And just when he thought he was starting to earn her respect. A frown formed on his face as she stirred next to him.

"Peeta?" Rayne spoke softly. He shut his eyes tight, pretended to sleep. "Peeta, I know you're awake."

"How do you know?"

He could hear a small smile in her voice, "You didn't turn over and hold me."

"So?"

"You always do that when you're sleeping next to me."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do. Every night. But only when you're actually asleep." A sigh escaped her. "Why not tonight?"

"I didn't think you trusted me enough," he spat the words out bitterly before he had a chance to stop himself.

"I have to make a choice Peeta." He could feel her sit up, and when he opened his eyes, she was sitting next to him. "I have to choose between trusting you and trusting my instincts. You know me Peeta. You know that it's my instincts that have kept me alive this long. I have to trust my gut."

"Your gut is what told you to save me." He countered, sitting up as well. He leaned his head back against the wall. "You saved me, because some part of you knew I can be trusted."

She ignored his argument. "I want you to come with me. Just not to District 13."

"Well one of us will have to bend. Or should we just flip a coin?"

"Why are you being so stubborn?" Rayne demanded.

"Why are you so afraid?" Peeta shot back.

"I'm not afraid," was the haughty reply.

"Yes you are. I know you Rayne," he added gently, "You're afraid of trusting people. Afraid of letting someone else make decisions. You're afraid of losing control. Afraid of not having a choice anymore. I'm not taking away your choices. I'm giving you one."

"Oh, and what choice would that be?"

The sarcasm in her voice hurt him, but he realized that this may be the opening he had been waiting so long for. "Me. Choose me."

Rayne became wary. "What do you mean?"

Peeta hesitated. What did he mean? It sounded so good, so easy when he explained it in his head. But now his mind went blank. "I . . ." when he looked into her eyes, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the walls, he was pained by the expression he saw. He could see the words written across her face, as if she were saying them out loud: _please don't say you love me._

Another blow to the gut. He could see it, plain as day. That is what she wanted. A heavy sigh escaped him. Rayne did not trust him, did not love him. He was just another debt. It was torturing him. But he would grant her this last silent request of hers. Because deep down, he knew this would be the last.

Already he had a plan forming. One that would be best for both of them. Fully aware of the pain he was about to cause both of them, he swallowed, voice cracking as he feebly replied, "I want you to choose to come with me. to . . . to District 13."

Rayne sat in stunned silence. She had thought this conversation was going to take a very different curve. But it had not, and now her frustration started to rise. "No!" She spat back, "for the last time Peeta, no, I'm not going to 13. Why can't you just accept that?"

Peeta cringed at her raised voice. Inside, his heart was breaking, tears threatened to spill. "I promised I would protect you."

"How do you plan on doing that in 13 if I'm not there?"

"It doesn't matter where we are," he wiped a tear from his cheek. "I will protect you."

Rayne reflected on what was happening. She could not believe what he was saying. "So you're leaving me then."

Peeta nodded, his mind racing. "I'll leave before dawn."

In a slight state of shock, Rayne lay back down, Peeta lowered himself next to her. Her mind refused to accept what was happening. A part of her believed it was all just a dream and that when she woke in the morning, Peeta would still be there next to her. The other half knew he would prove true to his word and leave. but both sides were telling her to let him hold her one last time.

"Peeta . . ." she waited for a reply. When he did not say anything, she asked, "Peeta, could you . . . could you . . ."

Reading her mind, Peeta draped his arm over her middle and pulled her close. He closed his eyes, fighting the shudder of tears that threatened to rip through his body. Instead, he focused on Rayne. This was the last time he would have her next to him, and whether or not she liked it, he loved her. he wanted to remember everything about her this night: how she looked sleeping, the way the moonlight lit up her face, the slight but solid feel of her body next to his.

She tried to imagine life without him. Like how it was before. She found she could not. Peeta had successfully wedged his way into her memories, so much so, that he even coloured them. Everything from before she knew him was a hazy shade of grey. But with Peeta, she had seen sunsets and rainbows. How could she go back now?

"This is it?" She whispered tentatively.

"This is it. Goodnight Rayne. I'm . . . I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too Peeta." Rayne felt her throat tighten and eyes sting. "Maybe one day, I'll come for a visit in 13."

"No you won't." Peeta replied, his voice oddly cool. "You'll never come looking for me."

His words stung. Out of the hurt, a flame of anger started to rise. "How do you know?"

"You'll move on and forget me." Even to Peeta's ears, his words sounded coarse. But it had to be done. So he continued in a detached manner, as if he was not the one speaking. "You may be crying now, but you'll stop. Soon I will be just another buried memory."

Rayne's heart started aching in her chest. Instinctively, her hand rubbed her collar bone, as if that would ease the pain. All this time, she never thought her heart could break like this. After all the people in her life had died, she thought there was nothing left to break. And she never thought Peeta had come to mean so much to her.

"But what about you?" She whispered.

Those words nearly made Peeta break down. Rayne felt his body tremble; she clutched his hand. Both lay in the darkness, trying to be brave for each other but failing miserably. "I don't think I can ever forget."

In Rayne's mind, if Peeta had his arms around her, she would know when he finally got up and left. She did not want to miss it. For sure she would feel his arm lift off her, feel her back get cold as he moved away from her. How could she miss those final moments with him?

But when daylight finally shone through the cracks and she woke, Peeta was already gone.


	21. Chapter 21: The Debt We Pay

Chapter 21

Peeta had left Rayne before dawn. Moving softly, quietly, he managed to untangle himself from her grip. He had left his hunting knife behind for her. He was not going to need it anymore. And Rayne would need all the help she could get.

The predawn air chilled him. The waist high field of hay was heavy with dew. Soon he was drenched, cold and wet, as he headed towards Leon and Roza's home. He had one final thing to do.

Contemplating his next actions, he did not even doubt he was doing the right thing. His plan was rash; he had made it up pretty much on the spot. But the more he thought about it, he realized that it was really the only thing he could do. The last thing he could do to keep Rayne safe.

His plan was this: he would ask Roza to care for Rayne until she left. He would tell them that he and Rayne were going their separate ways. And then he would turn himself in, to the Peacekeepers.

It made sense to him. He could throw the Peacekeepers of Rayne's trail. He would tell them she was heading to District 13 – the last place on earth she would go, next to the Capitol. It would buy her time. it had worked with Katniss and the Careers in the arena – kind of. And as for him . . .

He thought back to what he told her all those months ago back in their home in the hill. _That's what love is. When you value the other person's life more than your own._

Peeta knew what the Peacekeepers would do to him. He was ready to sacrifice his life for Rayne. In the deepest corner of his mind, he knew that he was never meant to make it. He was never supposed to make it out of the arena. It was a fluke he was saved. But now . . . now he would pay. In the end, everyone had to pay.

Marching onward, taking even, steady steps, he did not rush or slow down. There was no avoiding the inevitable. Leon and Roza's home drew closer and closer. At the same time, the sky started to brighten. He should have taken the time to watch the sunrise, he knew. But his mind was filled with Rayne. He thought back on the last year and how much his life had changed. Living with her was certainly an adventure. He felt richer for it, as if his life were now complete in a way that he would otherwise have never known.

The sun now sat on the horizon. Light was blazing brightly from the windows of the house, a sign that its occupants were up and about. Stepping up the wooden porch, his boots sounded heavy. He tried to put on his game face, preparing for the lies he would be telling. He raised his hand, hesitated for the briefest moment, then knocked.

A muffled voice asked him to come it. Opening the door and stepping inside, he started to weave his story. "Hi Leon and Roza. I know it's really early and you weren't expecting me . . ."

Peeta stopped dead in his tracks. Leon and Roza were nowhere to be seen. A Peacekeeper sat at the table, a nasty gash healing on his face. With a self satisfied smirk, he said in a deep voice, "On the contrary, we've been waiting all night."

A chill traveled down Peeta's spine. He whirled around, taking a deep breath to shout as loud as he could to Rayne. The noise never escaped his throat.

The blow to his head was heavy and he fell to the ground. The world was spinning. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the old farming couple who had become his friends, bound and gagged being dragged across the porch.

* * *

When Peeta woke, it was the middle of the morning. Blinking in the fierce sunlight, he tried to get his bearings. To his left, some distance away, Leon and Roza were handcuffed, standing between three Peacekeepers. They looked at him sadly, apologetically.

He tried to move, and rough hands yanked him to his feet. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and he could feel the heavy weight of shackles around his ankles. Head throbbing, he tried to focus on the old barn a few hundred yards away. The one that still concealed Rayne.

A quick jab in his back brought him to the present. He eyed the head Peacekeeper, the one with the scar on his face. instinctively, he knew that was from Rayne. The man saw him looking at it, gave a callous smile. Touching it with his gloved hand, he said, "This? It was a gift from your friend in there."

Thinking fast, he knew he had to protect Rayne. "She's not in there. She's on her way to the ruins of District 13 by now."

"Don't lie to me boy." He growled, giving Peeta a cuff on the side of the head. It sent his world spinning once again. "We know she's there still."

Once the world righted itself again, Peeta surveyed the area around him. The rippling of the tall grass, the height of the sun. he knew Rayne. He would use this to her advantage.

"Fine then, whatever. But who says she's my friend."

"She is. That's why she'll come for you." he snarled, "You're the bait."

At this Peeta laughed, catching the Peacekeeper off guard. "What makes you think she'll come for me?"

"She's weak," he replied uncomfortably. His plan could not backfire. "She's just a girl. You watch and see how weak her heart is."

Again Peeta chuckled, this time shaking his head. "Then you know nothing about her. if she does come, it's not because of me. It's not because there is a weakness in her armour you can exploit. If she does come, it's because she has a debt to pay." Though he tried to pass this fact off nonchalantly, it stung still. A fresh open wound. The cause for their fights. "A debt. Nothing more."

The Peacekeeper lapsed into an angry silence. A bird flew over head, whistling a familiar tune. Peeta glanced around; no one seemed to be paying it any attention. So Peeta whistled a different five note tune. This earned him another knock to the head, but he had the satisfaction of hearing the bird repeat it, before carrying it away.

The sun rose higher in the sky as the hours dragged by. By the afternoon, the head Peacekeeper turned angrily to Peeta. He shouted in his face, spittle landing on his shirt, "Where is she?" to this Peeta simply shrugged. This only infuriated The Head even more. His face was turning red, and his body was shaking from top to bottom. "You're the only thing we have to get her to come to us! Should we threaten you? Beat you? Something? What is it that we have to do to get her here?"

A hardened smirk formed on Peeta's lips as he squinted into the sunlight. "How do you know she's not already here?"

A new look of alarm crossed the man's face. He eyed the barn carefully, before signalling five of his men behind him to go into the field to investigate. They waded cautiously through the sea of grass, jumping at every noise and ripple. They stopped about thirty feet from Peeta and The Head, raising their weapons. For a minute, the whole world stopped. Peeta glanced around amazed at the sudden calm surrounding them all. It was as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting. Or maybe it was simply his imagination.

Out of this calm, the attack came suddenly. Out of nowhere, arrows shot through the air with blinding speed. Three men fell dead on the spot. One received an arrow to the shoulder and toppled over from the shock. Peeta lost sight of him in the grass, but he heard a terrified shout, then silence. The last man standing spun in circles, panic stricken, as he tried to pinpoint where exactly the attack came from. it was too late for him anyway. A flash of silver flew through the air, striking him. A surprised look crossed his face before he too fell dead into the grass. Peeta recognized the handle of his hunting knife sticking out of the man's back. Rayne had arrived.

"Enough!" The Head bellowed. Directing his voice to his unseen opponent, he shouted, "You want to do it like that? Fine!"

Before Peeta could react, The Head nodded to them men guarding the farmers. A single gunshot echoed through the air, sending birds to flight. Peeta's face paled. He watched, mute from horror, as Roza crumpled into a limp heap. Leon knelt down next to her, crushing her lifeless body to his chest, and choked out a broken wail.

Satisfied with the pain he caused, The Head called back out to the empty field, "You have until the count of ten to show yourself or the husband dies next."

Peeta groaned inwardly as The Head started counting out loud. He wondered what Rayne would do. She did not trust Leon before. Would it affect her decision now? The seconds ticked by. Finally, on the count of 8, she stood, not even 20 feet away from them. The Head was surprised at how close she had managed to come without being found. Peeta's feelings were vastly different: he did not know if he should feel relieved or not, that she had given herself up for Leon's sake.

The Head was barking out orders now, sending two more men to escort her back. To Rayne, he said, "Drop your weapons."

With a look of haughty indifference, she put her knives and arrows in the grass. Peeta saw her jaw set as the men approached. And he watched as they seemed to shrink back in fear as she snarled at them. They did not want to touch her, but each held an arm and brought her back. As they neared and The Head caught sight of her, he frowned. He did not like that look in her eyes. They had a scornful glare, piercing through him, as if to say he was nothing to her. Lower than the dirt beneath her feet and just as easy to crush.

"I don't like your attitude, girl." He growled. "I will teach you respect."

This time, Peeta saw The Head nod. Peeta managed to shout, "No!"

The gun went off again. Leon joined his wife. Peeta felt anger bubble up, but before he could reach The Head, he heard Rayne shriek.

She went into a frenzy at the sound of the gun and launched herself at the Peacekeeper on her right. Flying at him, they tumbled into the grass. Pure reflex took over. She ripped off his mask, threw it and his weapon off into the distance, and clawed his face. While he tried to defend himself, his partner recovered from the initial shock, and started to pull Rayne off. Squirming in his grip, she managed to get enough room to turn and punch him square in the nose. He hollered and jumped back, releasing Rayne, who knocked him off his feet.

From the ankle of her boot, she pulled out her last throwing knife and threw it. It landed deep in his shoulder. Before she could turn back to the Peacekeeper on the ground, another gunshot went off. This time she froze and searched wildly for Peeta.

The Head stood behind him, gun raised in the air. Rayne breathed a sigh of relief to see Peeta still alive. The Head was furious. "That's enough. Next move you make, this one is a goner." Rayne looked at Peeta. He silently mouthed the word 'run'. She bit her lip, aware of the two moaning figures who still withered on the ground. The Head sent the final two Peacekeepers to collect her. This was her chance. If she was going to make a break for it, this would be it.

She held her ground. This time they handcuffed her before they marched her towards Peeta and The Head. Peeta seemed to sag, crestfallen that she did not take the opportunity to escape. His plan had spun so wildly out of control, there was no salvaging it now. As they neared, Peeta saw the gears turning in Rayne's head. Soon they stood face to face.

"Well now," The Head growled, "What do you have to say for yourself girl?"

"Let him go," she nodded towards Peeta while keeping her piercing gaze focused on the Peacekeeper in front of her. "It's me you want. Let him go. He has nothing to do with this."

A wide grin spread on his face. The words that followed it sent chills down Rayne's spine. "On the contrary. He has everything to do with this."

Before Rayne could ask any more, there was a sharp stabbing pain in her arm. She looked and saw something being injected into her. a drowsy feeling came over her. Through blurred sight, she saw the same thing happen to Peeta.

Then . . . nothing.


	22. Chapter 22: Waking

**Sorry it's been so long. Life has been crazy busy. Please be patient with me, I will get this finished one day lol. Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 22

Rayne groaned. In the far distance, she could hear voices mumbling excitedly. She wanted to open her eyes, but they were so heavy. Her head was spinning wildly out of control, but she could make out a few things. She was lying down on a cold hard surface; there were at least three people nearby. Slowly, her senses started to awaken. Wherever she was smelled astringent, the sterile air roused bad memories from her past. Swallowing, her throat was painfully dry.

The voices whispered again. They seemed closer this time. "Shh everyone! She's waking up! I'm so excited, I can't wait . . ."

The high pitched voice droned on. Rayne tried opening her eyes, but a bright glare welcomed her. Squinting to let he eyes adjust, she gradually raised herself on her elbows. A wave of nausea swept over her. She tried to fight it down and get her bearings. Her instincts told her there was an immediate need to run, but everything in her body was protesting and sluggish. Once her eyes adjusted and she was able to open them fully, she paled.

The room was glaringly white, spotlessly clean. Without windows, light came from a set of glaringly white tubes above her. She was lying on a metal table in little more than a hospital gown. At the foot of the table stood a man, elaborately dressed in a hot pink and gold outfit. With him were two women. One seemed to have feathers growing out of her face, while the other was bald and had tiger stripes tattooed on her head and neck. Rayne coiled back in shock.

The man smiled too widely, "Hey sleeping beauty! We thought you'd never wake up."

"Oh Cassian, she looks amazing," the one with the feathers gushed, "especially now with her eyes open."

"Now you get the whole effect!" Tiger stripes rushed up to Rayne and patted her hand. Rayne pulled away and tried to snarl. Something felt strange.

"Hey there now, don't you go making those kinds of faces. You know how long it took us to do it?" Feathers chastised.

Cassian grinned widely again and pulled out a mirror. "Want to know what they're talking about?" He came close and held the mirror in front of Rayne so she could see.

All she could do was stare. It was her, but at the same time, not. Her features – nose, cheekbones, lips, chin – they were all there, but they were not exactly how she remembered. Now they were different. Her nose and chin were more shapely, cheekbones marginally higher and more pronounced, lips soft and full. Her eyebrows were shaped and her skin was scrubbed smooth. And her eyes . . . instead of the dark pools they were before, they now glowered back at her, a clear honey brown with flecks of sea green. Her long dark hair was trimmed and straightened into a shimmering river of chocolate brown, streaked with subtle auburn and chestnut highlights.

For a moment, she thought maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. The longer she stared, however, the more sure she was. They changed her. They made her something she had never been: beautiful.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked proudly. "We definitely had our work cut out for us. When was the last time . . ."

Rayne did not hear anything more. Her eyes flickered from the mirror to Cassian, and if he had been paying attention, he would have seen the hatred boiling over. What did she think? She was horrified. She felt violated. Her body was changed without her even knowing. What had they done to her?

Through her dry, cracking throat, she found her voice. It came out as a scream. It took everyone back by surprise, but these Capitol citizens were not prepared for what happened next.

Rayne launched herself at Cassian. The girls started screaming for help, pounding on the door, while Rayne knocked Cassian to the floor. The mirror shattered when it hit the ground. He dropped it while trying to shield himself from Rayne's blows.

By the time Peacekeepers came and pulled her off him, he had a bloody nose and a broken arm. The two Peacekeepers who hauled Rayne back to the table could barely contain her. She was a flying fury of limbs, reaching out and clawing at what she could, kicking out with her legs.

All the while she continued to scream. "I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you! Let me go!"

The Peacekeepers shouted something over her screams, and another two men came on. On helped pin her down on the table, while the other injected something into her arm.

Almost immediately, her screaming subsided, leaving a ringing silence in everyone's ears.


	23. Chapter 23: Blood and Roses

Chapter 23

Peeta woke in a cold sweat, bolting upright on the metal table in the small room he had been confined to for the last few days. With no clock and no windows, time had no meaning. He gave an involuntary shiver; though the room was not cold, he was chilled to the bone.

He had been dreaming. And in his dream, he thought he heard Rayne screaming.

Rubbing his chest, he thought about Rayne. He did not know if she was still alive. No one answered his questions; the medics who took care of him did not talk to him. And other than those doctors, he had not seen anybody. _Looks like that's about to change,_ he thought to himself as the heavy metal door squealed open.

Peeta's eyes widened with shock. Stepping into his room, was none other than President Snow.

"Well well well, we meet again Peeta Mellark." Snow's deep voice resonated through the empty room, piercing into the dark corners. Peeta shivered involuntarily. An amused smile tugged at the corner of Snow's lips at this. "Come now. I'm not all that bad."

"I'm just cold."

"I will make sure we accommodate you better. Maybe perhaps, to what you are used to? Maybe an animal skin parka?" With a wave of his hand, someone else slipped into the room and handed Peeta his parka from the forest. Peeta felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Snow watched with satisfaction as the boy's face drained of colour. This was the moment he was waiting for. "It's a lovely coat. But, enough chit chat. Tell me, my boy, how _did_ you survive out there?"

Peeta glanced at him, his face not betraying any emotion. Instead, he smoothly countered, "What do you mean?"

"You're right. I am jumping the gun. I should first ask, how did you escape the arena?"

"I hid after I was attacked. I was pretty cut up, my tracker must have fallen out. I just kept crawling until, next thing I knew, I was out. And as for survival," Peeta grinned half-heartedly, lying through his teeth, "Your training centres taught me how." In the far back corner of his mind, he remembered playing this scenario out with Rayne after she had given him the parka. It seemed like years ago.

"I see." Snow looked down at the ground thoughtfully. Peeta hoped he would be satisfied and leave. But the look in the President's eyes when he glanced back up at Peeta were anything but satisfied. "So, no one else helped you?"

Peeta only had a second or two to think. Not enough time to plan how he was going to talk himself and Rayne out of everything. "No."

"So then," Snow stepped closer, "Who is that girl we found with you?"

At this Peeta shrugged indifferently. "I don't know. I was hiding in the barn. She came a few days later, also looking for a place to hide."

President Snow rushed up to Peeta at surprising speed, catching Peeta off guard. He was so close, Peeta could smell something strange, an unlikely combination of smells. Blood and roses? The scent made his nauseous. "Don't lie to me boy." He hissed.

Then just as suddenly, Snow moved away from Peeta. All of this happened so quickly, Peeta thought maybe, he had just imagined it. And maybe he did, because President Snow next said, "That's an interesting story. I would love to hear more about it, as I'm sure you've had some exciting adventures. But I will have to defer them until a later time."

Peeta nearly breathed a sigh of relief. "Why's that?"

"The 75th annual Hunger Games are going to start in a few days, Peeta. I know you're going to be interested in them this year. It's going to be _so_ exciting. But I guess you don't know why. This year, the tributes are all previous winners. Your beloved Katniss is competing again." Snow smiled at the look of dread that filled Peeta's face for a quick second, before he masked it again. But that wasn't the reaction Snow was looking for. He wanted more. So he added, on his way out the door, "And in case you haven't noticed, I have a rebellion to stop. And you're going to help me."

Startled, Peeta asked disbelievingly, "How?"

"You're a smart boy," Snow smirked, "You'll figure it out."

Peeta heard the door shut; he saw President Snow leave. But his mind was reeling. How, and why, would Peeta stop the rebellion? It did not make any sense. He did not even know anything about it.

Suddenly the door flew open. Peeta jumped. In walked Haymitch. Before either one could say anything, there was a shriek from the doorway.

"Peeta!" Katniss raced across the room and hugged him. In a panic at her sudden move, he squirmed away, eventually pushing her off him.

Slowly, he processed the two people before him, recalling them from his memories. Likewise, they stared back at him. Haymitch shook his head, "Peeta. What . . . how . . .? You're alive!"

"I don't believe it. Peeta." Katniss looked him over carefully, "I thought . . . we all thought you were dead. How did you survive?"

Peeta blinked rapidly, coming out of his daze. Ignoring their comments, he examined them. Haymitch: still as hung-over as ever. His hair was greasy and disheveled; he smelled sour as he leaned heavily on the table where Peeta now sat. Nothing had changed with Haymitch.

But Katniss . . . she was not how he remembered her. Her face was gaunt, skin ashen. Dark black circles hung under her eyes, which were bloodshot. Her hair, though still tied back in her trademark braid, was thinner, dull. On her breath was the faint scent of alcohol. Had she been drinking too?

Katniss bit her lip, waiting in the awkward silence for him to respond. When he did not, she said, "You . . . you look good. You look like you've changed or something."

He had no idea what he looked like, but he figured she must be right. Living how he did with Rayne, he must look more muscled yet lean. The crew that had tidied him up a few days ago – like how he was before the Games last year – had trimmed his hair, hid his scars as best they could, but that was all they could do.

"Thanks. You look . . . nice." He forced the word into a small smile.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "God I'm going to need a drink."

Before he made it to the door, there was a knock, and President Snow walked back in. This time, he had Cinna trailing close behind. "Ah good, you've been catching up I take it? I hate to be the one to spoil the surprise, but I told Peeta already that you were going back into the arena this year, Ms. Everdeen. But I'm here with some more surprises."

Glancing around that the mixed expressions of the group, he continued, "There has been a change in the roster. Peeta will be taking Haymitch's place in the arena. Because he never really finished last year's games, now did he?" the shocked silence brought a smile to his face. As an afterthought, he added, "Oh and Cinna and his team will prep you this year. With that, I take my leave." Snow bowed out gracefully, a snake slithering along a tree branch.

In the stunned silence that filled the room, Peeta tried to register what just happened. Back in the arena? Everyone looked at him, gauging his reaction. He let nothing betray itself on his face. Eventually, Cinna cleared his throat. "Can I have a minute with Peeta?"

Haymitch mumbled something under his breath before exiting the room. Katniss glanced wearily after him, then turned back to Peeta with a sad smile. "Looks like we're both in this again. Maybe this year we won't screw up so bad?" Katniss wanted to pull him into a hug, to feel him solid under her touch, as if making sure he was really Peeta. But there was a strange look in his eyes so she refrained. Instead, she touched his arm. "You're going to stay in the apartment again with us, right?"

Cinna filled the silence for Peeta, "Don't worry, I'll show him the way." Cinna shut the door behind Katniss. When he turned back to Peeta, his eyes were troubled. "Well this is a surprise. I'm so shocked to see you . . . alive. How did you survive? How did you get out of the arena?"

Peeta remained silent for so long, Cinna tried a different approach. With an air of genuine kindness, he sat next to him on the steel table and fingered the parka Peeta still held. "Nice parka."

At that, Peeta told him everything. He knew he could trust Cinna with everything. Peeta told him about Rayne, how she found him, cared for him. He told Cinna about living in the forest for the last year. About their fights and reconciliations. And finally, about their hiding from the Peacekeepers.

"The last time I saw here," Peeta fought back the tears stinging his eyes, "She gave herself up to save me. But it didn't matter. They wanted both of us. I don't know what's happened to her since. I don't know if she's alive or dead, or what they've done to her."

Through all this, Cinna listened patiently, only interrupting a couple times to ask questions. Once Peeta reached the end of his story, Cinna smiled, a thoughtful look filling his eyes. "She sounds like quite the girl." After that, there was nothing for him to say that would make Peeta feel any better. Instead, he said, "Come on. I'll show you the way to the apartment. You're going to need your rest. And it looks like you could use a good meal."

On the way, Peeta hugged the parka tightly to his chest. His last connection to Rayne. He thought back to when Rayne had given it to him. He had told her to have faith in the goodness of humanity; not all people were the monsters she made them out to be. _Maybe she was right . . ._ Then she told him Katniss had won the Hunger Games. He laughed at himself, remembering how badly he had wanted to go back home, how they had fought about it. _Rayne was right about that too . . . _Now more than ever, he wanted to go back home – to the home he had with Rayne.

During dinner, while everyone exclaimed about him still being alive, and as they ate and drank and talked loudly to each other, Peeta sat silently. He played with his food, losing his appetite after just a few bites. Everything around him reminded him in one way or another of Rayne. How she would love the food they were eating. How the wine red house coats they were supplied would look so good on her. How she would love to have a bath here. Katniss talked about the wolf-mutts in last year's games – all he could think of was the time he saved Rayne from the cougar.

Everyone kept a worried eye on Peeta, urging him to eat more. The gears in Haymitch's brain worked overtime, trying to figure out how Peeta made it out of the arena. Katniss drank too much and eventually stumbled off to her room for the night. Effie called for more dessert and the team of stylists exclaimed happily.

Peeta could not stand it anymore. Quickly, he stood and excused himself. "I'm going to bed."

Cinna glanced at Haymitch, then back at Peeta. "Ok kid. Just to let you know, the tribute parade is tomorrow night. I'm going to do some alterations on Haymitch's outfit, so you should be able to fit in it."

Peeta nodded numbly and went off to his room. Crawling into bed, the sheets were slippery and cold. His heart ached to be curled up next to Rayne in their cozy cave. In that instant, the loneliness hit him. For days he had been by himself, yet he never really gave much thought to it. But now, surrounded by his old friends, he was more alone than ever before. Because none of them were Rayne.

That night, he lay awake, wondering about her. Where she was. What happened to her. If she had killed herself yet. At the thought, Peeta curled up on his side and shuddered. He could not imagine life without her. No matter what he told himself, however, the ache inside him grew. Because no matter what happened to her, if she was alive or not, there was only one truth.

Rayne was missing from him.


	24. Chapter 24: In The Garden

**Thanks for reading everyone! It's coming, just please continue to be patient. Will Rayne and Peeta ever meet again? You will have to wait and see! Please leave comments if you like it so far!**

Chapter 24: In The Garden

President Snow scrutinized the half opened white rose bud meticulously. It was, by far, the most perfect one on the entire rose bush. Decisively, he pulled out a pair of clippers from his back pocket, and snipped the stem. As he pulled it away from the bush, he heard footsteps treading across the grass. Focused entirely on the rose, he twirled it between his fingers lazily, and said loudly, "Ah, Plutarch. How kind of you to finally join me. Please, have a seat."

Unsure of what to say, Plutarch, still huffing from the mad dash he made to get there, sat the stone bench nearby. Snow turned to face him, holding out the rose for him to see. "Magnificent, isn't it? Such rare beauty. Some might even say . . . perfection. Cut off from the rose bush, from the ones that are weak and flawed. It needs to be showcased at the right event, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps, tonight at the Tribute Parade?" Plutarch simply nodded, waiting for Snow to continue. "Speaking of the Games . . ."

"We're just putting the final touches on the arena. It looks promising."

"Yes, and that's what I wanted to talk to you about Plutarch." Snow sat next to him on the bench, pruning the thorns and leaves off the rose stem. "It was only last year around this time I had a similar conversation with Seneca Crane. I did like him. What a pity he died."

Plutarch felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Afraid of letting his true feelings show, he put on a blank stare and nodded sympathetically. The look Snow gave him carried the grim warning: Do not make the same mistake.

"At the time, we had a conversation about hope."

"Hope?"

"Yes. Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear is hope. A little hope is good, a lot of hope is dangerous. But . . . you're intelligent. You know all this." Snow waved his hand dismissively. Satisfied the stem of his rose was perfectly smooth, he carefully placed it in a small vial of water. "So why are we having this conversation?"

"Um . . . sir?"

Snow rubbed his forehead and gave an exasperated sigh. "Really, I thought you would be better at this. What are the conditions of the Third Quarter Quell?"

"Tributes would be reaped from the existing victors."

"Correct. To show that even the strongest of them cannot stand against us. Therefore, we are showing them they have no hope."

"No hope?"

"The thing about hope is, it is not replaced by fear."

"It's not?"

"No. It is quickly replaced by hate. We take their victors, they do not become afraid of us. They hate us. So we have to change the stakes. We need a contingency plan."

Plutarch shook his head. "I don't understand."

Again Snow sighed. "Really, I didn't think you would be this stupid. So . . . never mind. I will help you along when the time comes." There was a pause, then Snow asked, "are the Tributes prepared for the parade?"

"As far as I know, everything is running smoothly and on time." Plutarch glanced at his pocket watch, "In fact, the stylists should be getting them ready now. There are going to be some interesting costumes this year. Everyone especially seems to have high expectations for District 12. Cinna requested to be their stylist again this year."

"He always does such fabulous work."

"The citizens love it."

"Yes he always manages to catch the . . . flavour of the districts so well."

"It will be interesting to see what he comes up with this year."

"Yes . . . yes it will."

Plutarch waited a moment longer, then politely started to make his leave. Just at the door, Snow called out to him once more. "Oh and Plutarch? There has been a change in the roster." Plutarch turned and glanced curiously at the president. "From District 12 . . . Mr. Abernathy is no longer a tribute. Peeta Mellark will be taking his place."

Shock filled Plutarch's face. Stunned, he did not have the nerve to even question it. "That's good to know. I will tell Cesar, so he can prepare his commentary accordingly."

"That is fine. I shall also make an announcement during my speech tonight." An easy, snake-like smile tugged at his swollen lips. "Happy Hunger Games Plutarch. And don't disappoint me."

"Happy Hunger Games, President Snow."


	25. Chapter 25: The Morning of the Parade

Chapter 25

Peeta woke to sunlight streaming in, onto his face. For a moment, he forgot where he was and reached out across the bed for Rayne. Cold sheets slipped through his fingers instead. Groaning at the memories of the last few days that came flooding back to him, he flopped on his back and stared numbly at the ceiling. This was his protest: he was refusing to get out of bed.

While he lay there, contemplating his life thus far, someone knocked on his door. With a sigh, he mumbled for them to come in. to his surprise, Katniss walked hesitantly through the door carrying a tray of breakfast food.

"Hey sleepyhead. You missed breakfast."

Peeta scrambled to sit up in bed as she strolled across the room and set the tray down on his bed. "Thanks," he muttered, his stomach suddenly growling.

As he reached out to grab a muffin, Katniss put her hand on his arm. "Peeta . . . I'm so sorry." Then she burst into tears.

Caught off guard, he leaned over and pulled her into a hug. Absentmindedly, he started tracing figure eights on her back, and started to shush her. "Hey, what's the matter? It's okay Ray-" The name died on his lips. Abruptly, he let go of Katniss and backed away, afraid she would have heard.

"Peeta! I'm so so sorry." She sobbed, reaching out with her arms for him. When he refused to hold her, she sniffed back the tears and tried to compose herself. "I thought you died Peeta! They said you died! How did you . . . how are you . . ."

"It's a long story," he found himself saying. His heart started aching once more, as he tried to console this girl who was still 'Not Rayne'.

"Please tell me."

Peeta shook his head and smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"But –"

"I would rather hear your story. How did you win the games last year?"

A shudder passed through Katniss. Her face paled, and she steeled herself for the retelling, something she had done a lot over the last year. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she took a deep, steadying breath. "I was allied with Rue. The little girl. They killed her . . . and then not long after, they fired your cannon. I was . . . a mess. Thresh killed Clove, then Thresh died. There were these mutts," Katniss closed her eyes and shuddered. "They cornered Cato and I at the cornucopia. It was awful . . . he was a bloody mess and . . . I killed him too. The mutts left. I thought that was it. But I was missing something. I was missing someone."

Her voice trailed off, pain filling her eyes. Peeta gently nudged her to continue. She sighed, "It was Foxface. The mutts chased her from wherever she was hiding in the forest. She ran towards the cornucopia. Towards me . . ." She turned to Peeta, tears spilling down her face, "there are so many faces. So many different looks of fear."

Peeta tried to push the thought of Rayne out of his mind. But his mind was so totally focused on Rayne, he barely heard the rest of Katniss's story. "I helped her onto the cornucopia. We stayed there, for days. I couldn't handle anymore killing. Marvel, Glimmer, the girl from four, Cato . . . Rue . . . you." she shook her head, as if clearing away something bad, "but we didn't trust each other. We had to do something, but by that point, we were starving to death. Foxface was so weak, she couldn't even stand anymore. The game makers wanted me to kill her. I was out of arrows and had no other weapons. So they sent me one . . . a gift. A dagger. She died just as I received it."

"And then . . . that was it?"

"No," she shook her head sadly, "I was so angry and confused . . . all I could think of was what you said to me. How you wanted to show the Capitol that they don't own you. So . . . I used the dagger. I tried to kill myself." She snorted, "And I almost did it. I was as good as dead once they collected me. But they managed to patch me back together, good as new. And well . . . here I am."

At that, there was a knock at the door. Peeta glanced over Katniss' head. To his surprise, a relatively sober Haymitch strolled in. "Well look who decided to wake up. Effie's pretty upset you slept in so late. Apparently you're throwing off everyone's schedule." He nodded at Katniss, "That means you sweetheart. You better find Cinna."

"What about Peeta?" She asked, rising and walking to the door.

"Don't worry, I'll send him out soon. We've got a lot of catching up to do." Haymitch sat on the edge of the bed and looked pointedly at Peeta.

Peeta cleared his throat nervously, and tried to act casual. As if the look Haymitch gave him had not just shaken him to the core. "So Haymitch, it's nice to see you so. . .alert. How've you been?"

By then Katniss left the room and shut the door behind her. Haymitch turned his attention back to Peeta. "You can cut the crap now. She's gone."

Strangely enough, this relieved some of the tension from the room. "What's up?"

"I want to know how a baker's son survived the arena." Haymitch leaned forward expectantly.

Peeta tried to move away from him. He may have been sober, but he clearly had not showered yet. He chuckled and plastered on a good humored grin. "Well you see, when I was attacked, my tracker fell and –" Haymitch's eyes flashed angrily, causing Peeta's thought to trail off to silence. "What?"

"The truth this time. this is your chance to tell me the truth."

"I . . . I don't know what else you want me to say. I was attac-"

"Oh forget it. I know Peeta!" Haymitch fairly shouted. Remembering where they were, he lowered it, barely above a hiss. "I know about the girl."

Peeta's blood ran cold, a thousand thoughts flew through his mind. So many questions he wanted to ask, but his mouth could not even form a word. Haymitch used this moment of silence to continue his speech. "I know there was a girl who helped you escape and survive. No, I don't know what's happened to her. And yes, it was Cinna who told me. He thought I had a right to know. The only reason I'm bringing this up . . ."

"What is it?"

Haymitch sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Listen, I'm having enough trouble keeping Katniss out of a jam. Snow's not too happy with her. But that pales in comparison to how angry he is with you. I'm warning you now, you better keep your head down, or we'll find it on a stake in the yard. Because this affects all of us."

Peeta had come to a realization a while ago that he no longer cared about what happened to him. Rayne was gone. He couldn't help her anymore. There was nothing left for him to do. Now, however, what he did and what happened to him no longer affected only him. "They're going to take it out on all of us, aren't they?"

"All of us, and especially Katniss."

Peeta sat, thinking deeply about this. "So what's the plan this time? Last year we agreed on keeping Katniss alive."

"She's asked me the same question. This time, she wants to keep you alive."

"No . . ." Peeta shook his head. He could not stand it if anymore of his friends were hurt trying to keep him safe.

"If you ask me, there's no point in trying. If Snow wants you dead, you're as good as dead. Nothing can change that. But she claims that there's nothing left for her anymore."

"Haymitch . . . how is she?" Peeta asked hesitantly. He tried to remember what she looked like before, but all he could see was what she looked like now. It was a huge difference.

"She's . . . not so good. Since the games last year . . ."

"She never really made it out alive, did she?"

Haymitch was struck at this deep understanding, and softened his tone. "A part of her died in there. Just like everyone else who has made it out of the arena. Except maybe you."

Peeta recalled a time when Rayne had said those exact words. The memory stung, and he tried to push it out of the way. "What's happened?"

"She won. She came home. . . Peeta, you have to understand something. When a Tribute wins . . . when _we_ win, nothing is the same anymore. We really are the losers. Because we have to keep living and try to move on. So she came home, but the old Katniss you remember died in that arena. And . . . well . . . she took your death pretty hard. It didn't take her long to come over and try to drink her troubles away. Just like me." At this he hung his head in shame.

"Haymitch, don't be hard on yourself."

"I was a selfish drunk last year, Peeta. This year I'm going to do it right. I will do what I can to help you both stay alive for as long as you can."

"That leads you to the plan?"

"Actually, it's more of a rule. The plan is slow in coming. But there is one thing you have to do."

"Ok. Shoot."

Haymitch took a deep breath. "You can't tell anyone about how you survived, how you escaped, and especially not about the girl. And you must not, under any circumstances, tell Katniss about the girl."

"Ok. I wasn't planning on it," Peeta tried to joke.

"Seriously kid. You were supposed to be 'star crossed lovers'. We can't have people finding out there was another girl this whole time."

"So we're playing that card again?"

"I'm just keeping our options open for now."

Peeta stared at his hands, then said quietly, "I don't think I can do that."

Haymitch was taken aback. "What? Why not? That was good stuff last year!"

"I just can't do it."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. Really can't. Physically and emotionally can't, it's going to be impossible. Besides . . ." he added softly, almost to himself, "she never loved me back."

Haymitch considered this comment for a moment. Out of curiosity, he asked gently, "Which one?"

With a sad half smile, Peeta looked back at him. "Both of them."


	26. Chapter 26: Opening Ceremonies

Chapter 26

After the visit from Haymitch that morning, he was filled with a sense of restlessness. As he paced his room, he stumbled across some pencils and paper. Immediately he grabbed them and started to sketch. He had no intention of drawing anything in specific. He just wanted something to keep his hands and mind busy. But before he knew it, he was tracing out scenes from the forest: the pond and mountains, the treetop horizon at sunset, Rayne walking up a trail. The hours flew by. The sudden knock at his door startled him; he dropped the pencil. Effie walked in and told him to hurry, he was late, Cinna and Portia were waiting for him.

He had glanced down at the paper in his hand. Somehow, he had spaced out while drawing and now held a complete portrait of Rayne. The face glowered from the page, her dark eyes intense and alert, that barely there frown of concentration on her forehead, and a smile, trying to tug at the corner of her mouth. Rayne was the only person Peeta knew who could carry all these varying emotions on her face at once.

Effie had glanced at the drawing, still grasped in his hands. "Who's that?"

"No one," Peeta shuffled the papers quickly, burying it in the middle. "Just a friend from back home."

"Ah." She shook her head disapprovingly, "You can't very well have more romances on the side, now can you? Besides, you could do much better."

Peeta blinked, confused. "What?"

"Well dear," she tottered over to him and pat his shoulder, "your friend from home seems rather plain. Not that it matters now. If you win though, you can bring her back here. Maybe you could get her a booking with Cinna."

Anger flashed through Peeta. He opened his mouth to lash out, but never got the chance. Portia stuck her head in the room and called for Peeta. They were waiting.

And now here he was. Opening Ceremonies. It sent a chill down Peeta's spine. It was to be the seal on his fate, and he could no longer pretend it was all just another nightmare. He was going back in. And Effie was right: nothing else mattered now.

Peeta stayed glued to the chariot while all the other victors eyed his suspiciously. When he first walked in among the buzzing group of men and women, everyone hushed. Confused at first, trying to remember which year he had been crowned victor. When they realized who he was, however, the confusion changed to surprise, and finally, this suspicion that made him feel so uncomfortable.

It felt strange to him, to be back. Surreal, to go through all this again. He knew this time there would be no way he would make it out alive. He did not stand a chance, and Rayne was not going to be there to help him this time. In a sense, he was all alone. Even as Katniss joined him on the chariot, he felt like a leaf on the river. So little control over what would happen next, and so solitary in his journey.

"Here, let me," Katniss straightened the crown on his head. Part of the elaborate costume. It made Peeta feel like an imposter, wearing a mock victor's crown in a sea of other victors. "Remember what we're supposed to do?"

"No waving . . . Portia said we're to be above it all." Peeta glanced around nervously. Cinna and Portia were nowhere to be seen. "Where are they, anyway?"

"I don't know," Katniss replied. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on."

As the costumes light up and glow, Peeta could feel everyone's eyes on them. Even as the music started and the chariots filed out, they were looking at Peeta. Some cast a final, accusatory glare, while others, like the pair from District 6, stared dumbly. Morphling addicts, Katniss had explained.

"Are we supposed to hold hands this year?" Katniss asks.

To Peeta, her voice seems miles away. He replied automatically, "I guess they've left it up to us." After a moment, Katniss reaches for Peeta's hand. He flinched, but she barely notices.

The roaring crowd dulls sharply as they enter the arena. Upon seeing Peeta, the Capitol citizens are unsure of how to react. The shouts of excitement fade to sharp murmurs, rising in volume as the chariot pulled into position. Katniss eyes a unimpressive spot in the distance, playing it cool. But a quick squeeze of his hand tells Peeta: that was not the reaction she had been expecting from the crowd.

The great crowd of people is finally silenced, as President Snow rises and begins his speech. "Welcome citizens to the Opening Ceremonies. And welcome, Tributes, of the Third Quarter Quell!" The crowd cheers, wildly, but lacking a certain lustre. Snow raises his hands to quiet them before continuing. "This is promising to be a very special Quell. So let us extend our appreciation to all the stylists, for creating all these," Snow casts a heavy glance at Katniss, "meaningful costumes. And too, let us not forget to extend our appreciation to his year's Game Maker, Plutarch Heavensbee."

Again the crowd cheered. Snow let them rave for a few minutes, before quieting them again. "And now, I have a very special announcement. This year, we have a unique guest Tribute with us. Really, nothing like this has ever happened before."

Snow changed his glance from Katniss to Peeta, who, most unwillingly, made eye contact. Snow seemed to be talking directly to him. "I know this is quite unexpected. But let me assure you," Snow smiled cunningly before raising his eyes and gesturing to the crowd, "all of you, that this particular Tribute will be making an already special Quell even more interesting. Surprisingly resilient, and quite good looking, I'm sure you sponsors will be lined up this year."

Snow fingered the white rosebud on his suit jacket and looked back down at Peeta. "I apologize. I do drone on. So without further ado . . . Citizens! Would you like me to formally introduce you?" He could feel every single person's gaze resting heavily on his shoulders.

Their reaction was astounding. Gone were the curious half whispers from when they saw Peeta. Now they bellowed and shouted. Peeta could barely breathe. In the evening light, the air seemed electrified from the crowd. The uproar reached a climax, the noise thundered in Peeta's ears.

But then, there it was again. The noise like thunder. Peeta looked around, then up at Snow. The President's smile was sly, and he gestured towards the great doors at the back, where the chariots had come out of. Confusion swept through the other Tributes as they glanced back at him, then at the door. Shock registered on many of their faces; awe on others. Another resounding boom of thunder, accompanied by the shrill whinny of a horse. Slowly, Peeta turned around and looked.

A woman in a dress, on horseback, between two mounted Peacekeepers. Peeta knew right away that the dress was from Cinna. The strapless tight fitting bodice flared out, billowing, the train sweeping down over the glistening black hindquarters of the horse. It was a smoky plum, mingled with shifting clouds of thick greys, bleeding to a thick black hem. But the real show stopper, the thing that everyone was staring at, was her tiara. It glowed and crackled like liquid silver. Suddenly, a thunder clap. The horse gave a half rear at the sound, but Peeta could still make out the flash of lightening travelling from tiara down to the bottom of the dress. Then it was gone.

At once, Peeta understood. He dropped Katniss' hand as if it were a hot coal. Like everyone else, he was mesmerized, held captive by this amazing scene painted out before him. However, he was the only one who knew.

"Peeta?" Katniss whispered fiercely, reaching for his hand again. Peeta pulled away from her, desperately trying not to run off the chariot. She continued to try to get his attention. He never even heard her. He was completely focused on the lone rider.

Silver-plum eye makeup and blood red lips. Despite this, he could make out the features. A finely shaped nose and chin, high cut cheekbones, full lips. Chocolate and auburn hair. Honey eyes. Though the woman on horseback was completely foreign to him, Peeta knew who she was. The haughty, hostile way she carried herself. That fierce and cold look in her eyes. The dress was the biggest clue.

Snow's voice boomed over the PA system. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you . . . the last remaining Districtless!"

It was Rayne.


	27. Chapter 27: Thunder and Lightning

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and leaving reviews. Thanks for the compliments too. I'm having fun with this. Happy reading (and only 7 more months until Catching Fire comes out! Yay!)**

Chapter 27

For Rayne, the days leading up to the Opening Ceremonies were a blur. They kept her sedated and unconscious for the most part, tormented by nightmares for hours on end. Her drug induced sleep prevented her from ending them by waking up. And when the drugs finally wear off, she was given only a few hours at a time.

Though she had no concept of time in her dark cement room, she was sure her three days had passed. She had taken the spoon provided for her meal and tried to kill herself, as was the custom for her people. Unfortunately, the Peacekeepers intercepted. After that, everything that could be a weapon was taken from her. She was strapped to the table and supervised around the clock. At meal times, she could sit upright – still handcuffed to the table – and someone fed her. Or at least tried. Eventually she refused to eat and drink, hoping she would just waste away.

It was these moments of waking, when her head was clear and the room was quiet, she imagined she was home. In her mind's eye, she ran through the forest trails and leapt over fallen logs; Peeta was in the cabin waiting for her. She went swimming in the pond and sunned herself on its banks; Peeta was lying there next to her. One time, they were having a snowball fight. Another, they were working side by side in the garden, the damp earth warmed and spicy in the spring sunlight. These were her few good memories, and by god, they were not going to take these away from her.

Rayne never saw her stylist again. Cassian had made his mark; Rayne had made hers. His broken arm put him out of commission. No one wanted to take his place. The only other visitor she had was some pale, tiny man who introduced himself as President Snow's messenger. He had simply said, "President Snow requests your presence at the Opening Ceremonies of the 75th Annual Hunger Games." Though it was not explained why she had to attend, her instincts were telling her that something bad was going to happen.

One night, something changed. The doctor who usually came to sedate her for the night never came. Rayne, suspiciously aware of this change in schedule, lay in the dimmed light. Keeping her eyes closed, she feigned sleep. The familiar squeal of the doors opening pierced the silence. Counting footfalls, she made out two people entering the room, and one approached her.

"Careful sir, I wouldn't get that close if I were you." The all too familiar voice of her guard warned. Still the footfalls approached. She was aware of how close this person was, she could sense him standing right by her side.

"Sir . . ." the guard took a step towards them. Rayne's eyes snapped open and she lunged. Sitting bolt upright, she snarled and snapped at the person next to her. The restraints on her wrists kept her from reaching him. The suddenness of her movement scared the guard, who raised his gun and aimed. Rayne heard the familiar click, and turned her fiery gaze to him.

As she struggled vainly against the restraints, the man by the bed asked calmly, "Why is she handcuffed to the table? Let her go."

The soothing tone of this deep voice threw her off, and she stopped struggling. Warily, she kept glancing between the guard and the man.

"Sir, I don't think that's such a good -"

"It's fine. I'll take responsibility for whatever may happen. Uncuff her and you can leave us."

The guard put away his weapon, and approached Rayne. Hands trembling, he undid the restraints on her ankles and wrists. As soon as her hands were free, they snaked out. Grabbing the guard by the shirt with one hand, the other lashed out and pulled off the guard's knife, pressing it to his throat. It all happened with such startling speed, the guard could only blink.

Rayne's heart beat wildly in her chest, nostrils flaring with hatred. She twisted his shirt tighter, and noted with satisfaction, the blatant fear in his eyes. That was all she had wanted to see. Just as quickly, she let go, pushing him away from her. "You can go," she waved the knife carelessly through the air.

As the guard scampered to the door, she called out, "Don't forget your knife!"

He turned to look over his shoulder, just as it whizzed half an inch from his nose, the blade lodging deep into the seam of the door. Terrified, the guard yanked it free and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

A smirk of satisfaction crossed Rayne's face. The other man was still next to her; he shook his head, amused. "Was that really necessary?"

Rayne clamped her mouth shut and refused to answer. So he continued, "Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed. That was some fine throwing." He paused, looking kindly at her. "I'm Cinna. I've volunteered to be your stylist. I'm going to get you ready for the parade tomorrow night."

Blinking, Rayne looked at him in surprise. How long had she been here? She tried to piece together the fragments of the last week or so. But there was so little to go on. When was the last time she had seen the sun?

Cinna watched the gears in her mind turn. He wished he had known her before her alterations. "I know this is a lot to take in Rayne, but you've been here for eight days."

She snapped to attention, eyes wary. When she spoke, it came out as a whisper, "How do you know my name?"

Cinna's gaze softened. "You've got a really loyal friend out there. He was worried about you."

"Peeta?"

Instead of replying, he pulled something out of his pocket. Hesitating, he twirled it around in his fingers. "I've seen a few mockingjay tokens in my time. But not one like this." He held up Rayne's pendant. A faint gasp escaped her as she snatched it from him. It seemed so strange to see it in her palm again, wings spread wide, arrow in its claws. Cinna watched her for a second, then said gently, "I get the feeling it's got a lot of history behind it. You don't want to lose something as precious as that. You might forget who you are. What you stand for."

"How . . . how is Peeta?" Rayne lifted the leather cord over her head, tucking the pendant under her neckline.

"He's okay. Missing you." From the quizzical look Rayne gave him, Cinna felt compelled to explain. "He told me all about you. You're quite a remarkable young woman."

"I just did what I had to," she growled. Underneath her frowns, however, she was dying to ask a million questions: where Peeta was, if she could see him, why he never came for her. Instead, she held her tongue. Whatever Peeta did or did not do, he had his reasons. And no matter what, he would protect her. Perhaps, knowing nothing was going to be her protection.

"Even so . . ." he trailed off, lost in thought. Eventually, he came back to the present and smiled, held out his hand to Rayne. "Come on. We've got to get you ready. I've made you a dress you have to try on. I think you're going to like it."

Rayne's eyes narrowed. "Why should I trust you? Look what your people did to me." She gestured to her face.

"I know what they did to you, and I'm sorry it happened. But I'm not here to change you anymore. I'm here to help you show the world who you really are."

"You're . . . you're not afraid of me?"

Again, Cinna smiled. Surprisingly, this put her at ease. There was something in his kind face and warm eyes that lowered her guard. "No, I'm not. Peeta trusts you. That's good enough for me."

At that, Rayne hopped down off the table and followed Cinna out. As he led her down different hallways, she spooked and skittered at the strange noises and smells. This place, this world was different. How she longed to be back in the forest, weaving her way barefooted at full speed between the birch trees.

Eventually they came to a dressing room. She tried on Cinna's beautiful dark plum dress and the silvery tiara. "Ok now, there is something really special about this dress. Let me just turn it on . . ."

"Turn it on?"

A loud crack of thunder echoed in the tiny room, catching Rayne off guard. She fairly jumped out of her skin. It was then she noticed the dress lit up with a streak of white light. It took a moment for her to figure it out. When she did, she glanced curiously at Cinna. He was grinning. "With thunder and lightning comes rain."

A sly smile formed on her lips. "How appropriate."

But that was last night. Then, in that room with only Cinna, she had felt unsure. Though she would have rather died than admitted it, she was nervous about the Opening Ceremonies. Not that anyone looking at her would have guessed.

The afternoon of the parade, Cinna prepped her, this time completing the look with makeup and hair. When Rayne looked in the mirror, she was looking at a stranger. There was no time to try to find the old Rayne in the mirror. She would have to show herself at the parade.

Two Peacekeepers escorted her and Cinna to an open arena. Empty chariot lined the walls. Facing the oversized two leaved doors, was Rayne's ride. The horse towered over them, it's coat glistening black. His ears swiveled nervously, eyes rolling as he eyed her in her dress. Once mounted, Cinna spread the train of her dress over the horse's haunches carefully, so as not to spook him. She held on to the reins; as she did so, a Peacekeeper tried to clap handcuffs on her wrist. She yanked away; the horse sidestepped.

"Hold him," the Peacekeeper ordered. His friend held the bridle, steadying the horse. Rayne wanted nothing to do with the restraints anymore.

Cinna touched her leg. "Rayne . . . just let them."

A heavy sigh, and she condescended. The cold metal touched her skin and she shot the Peacekeeper a poisonous look. He hurried to get the job done, then he and his partner mounted their own horses as well. Another Peacekeeper came out of nowhere, and attached chains that ran from either side of Rayne's cuffs to the rider on her left and right, respectively. There was no escaping now.

Cinna was still at her side, and gave her some last minute instructions. "Be yourself. Remember: you're a Districtless. They're all afraid of you. They think you're dangerous, wild, savage. Prove them right."

Rayne's mind flashed back to how she had first described herself to Peeta. _Something barely human. A stone heart that beats without a shred of humanity. _The great doors slowly started to open. Cinna turned on the dress. Thunder boomed, lightening flashed, the horse spooked. Rayne's escorts got him under control, and they marched out into the arena.

Squinting in the bright lights that were trained on her, it took a while for her eyes to adjust. All around her was a deafening roar, the voices of thousands of people cheering and screaming. Up ahead, she could make out a dozen chariots. A high balcony and podium loomed above them.

Suddenly the dress went off again. As the lightening cracked from head to hem, it was as if Rayne had been literally struck by lightning. She felt charged and alive. She felt powerful. Cinna's words rang in her ears, _prove them right._ Her new face found its old expression: haughty, disinterested. Her new eyes hardened, cast its cutting gaze straight ahead. Her jaw tightened, tilting her chin up, giving her an arrogant, fierce look.

Again the thunder and lightning cracked. This time the horse gave a half-rear. Rayne sat, still as stone, unfazed, though her heart was pounding in her chest. Soon, they reached the middle of the arena and stopped. The crowd's cheers dimmed, and they stared, mesmerized. Rayne felt strange; she had always held power over other people. But this was a new kind, one that was foreign to her. It was from her beauty, her appearance, and not from any threat or intimidation. She was not sure if she enjoyed it. She questioned this power's strength.

A voice roused her from her thoughts. It resonated deeply over the sound system. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you . . . the last remaining Districtless!"

Rayne looked up at the speaker. An old man with puffy lips. A single white rose tucked in his breast pocket. He stared at her, as her dress went off again. He too was transfixed by the sight of it. Only, he seemed displeased for being so.

There were only two thoughts that raced through Rayne's mind at that moment.

President Snow.

Snake.


	28. Chapter 28: The Contingency Plan

Chapter 28

Plutarch Heavensbee watched as the chariots filed in. He watched especially for the last chariot, carrying the tributes from District 12. Resisting the urge to shake his head or sigh, he simply watched and occasionally, mopped the nervous sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

After Snow told him that Peeta was taking Haymitch's place in the games, he went ahead and made the needed changes to the line up. Comments and titles had to be changed. Interviewers had to be informed. But it was all hush hush. The big unveiling was left for the parade, where Snow said he would make a speech about it.

Secretly, Plutarch wondered at the wisdom of Snow's decision. He was worried about how the crowd would react. Worried about what other changes he would have to bring about, now that the boy was back in the games. And wondered how this would affect himself and his role. Plutarch watched Snow stand and give his speech.

Snow had his eyes trained on Peeta the whole time. And Plutarch was so fixated on glancing between the two, he failed to notice the great doors opening once more. Suddenly, a great rush of noise, followed by the sound of thunder. Plutarch looked up and paled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you . . . the last remaining Districtless!"

Plutarch snapped to attention. He was all ears and eyes, trying to take everything in at once. Trying to make sense of all that had happened in the last few days leading up to this moment. Now it all made sense.

_The rose, being separated from the weak and flawed. To be showcased at the right moment._

_The opposite of hope is not fear, it is hate. So there needs to be a change in the stakes._

_A contingency plan. _

This girl, this . . . Districtless. She was the contingency plan.

How many other conversations over the past months had Snow dropped subtle hints about this moment? About this girl? Plutarch swallowed. This changed everything.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Snow's famous closing remarks echoed through the arena. "And may the odds . . . be ever in your favour!"

The crowds cheered. The chariots filed out of the arena, followed by the girl on horseback. Snow stood smiling and waving until they were gone. Ever the diplomat. As soon as he turned to leave, the smile was replaced with a scowl.

"You see what he did?" Snow hissed.

"Sir?"

"That stylist, Cinna. You see what he did with that girl? That . . . savage?"

Plutarch shook his head, "What are you –"

"He made her . . . beautiful! Appealing. She's not supposed to be appealing. She's supposed to be uncivilized. Barbaric!" He snapped at Plutarch. "He made her look like a princess of the Districtless, not the blood thirsty savage she is!"

Just as swiftly, his mood changed, and he took a deep breath. Smoothing back his hair, he muttered, "No matter. She'll show her true self. And then no amount of . . . finery will help her then."

Just as he started to rush off, Plutarch touched his arm. "Sir . . ."

"What?"

Plutarch hesitated, considering how to word what he wanted to say. "Do you think it was . . . wise? To introduce her as a tribute?"

At this, Snow's eyes flashed, and he grabbed Plutarch by the collar of his shirt. Pulling him closer, he hissed through a haze of blood scented roses, "It started with the Districtless. Now it's going to end with one."


	29. Chapter 29: Failed Escape

Thanks for reading everyone, and thanks for being so patient. It's all coming out . . . eventually :) Thanks too for the encouraging comments and reviews, it means a lot to me. Keep checking for updates!

Chapter 29

The chariots filed out of the arena into another waiting area. Once his stopped, Peeta craned over the other Tribute's heads, trying desperately to find Rayne. Katniss noticed, and asked, "Peeta? What are you doing?"

He pushed past her, hopping off the chariot as Rayne and her escorts entered the room. The other tributes were murmuring amongst each other. Cinna, Haymitch, and Effie showed.

"Where is he going?" Haymitch growled. Cinna cast him a concerned glance, and together, the pursued Peeta. Trying to call him back before everything came undone. Effie stayed with Katniss, trying to soothe the confused girl. Peeta kept his eyes glued on Rayne, weaving his way through the milling crowd.

Rayne did not see him. Her eyes were void, expressionless. Anyone looking at her would have thought she was defeated. Well . . . anyone who did not know her.

Her mind was racing, and she was seeing everything. President Snow's announcement rang in her ears. She was going to be a tribute in the Quarter Quell. She recalled all the previous Games she had broken into and scavenged from. There was an immeasurable difference between breaking in and getting out.

Her escorts dismounted and started to come toward her. In the few seconds that passed, she knew she had to at least try to escape. Hands gripping the reins, she gave her nervous mount a swift kick. As he reacted, she hauled back on his mouth. Eyes flashed white. He reared, sky high.

Rayne grasped his thick mane, felt the chains on her wrist tighten, then go slack as the Peacekeepers lost their grip on them. The moment the dark horse's front hooves touched the ground, Rayne gave him his head, allowing him to gallop off. All around her people were shouting, dashing out of the way. There was an open door a head. Peacekeepers tried to outrun her to close the door before she got there. They were going to fail.

Peeta came to a stop, eyes wide as he watched the scene unfold. A rush of air as the horse bolted past him. As it did, Peeta saw a Peacekeeper load something into the chamber of a gun. Time slowed. Peeta started running, shouting, as the Peacekeeper aimed the gun at Rayne. It was too late.

A deafening crack and the room fell silent. Peeta watched as Rayne looked over her shoulder at the noise. A look of surprise crossed her face, her eyes closed, and she slumped in the saddle. After a few more strides, she fell from the horse, landing limp and with a thud.

Before Peeta was aware of what he was doing, Haymitch and Cinna were holding him back. Somehow he had crossed the distance between him and Rayne, and was about to reach out for her when they each grabbed one of his arms. Together, Haymitch and Cinna lifted him kicking and screaming off the ground a few feet away.

"Peeta! Peeta!" Haymitch tried to get him to focus. "She's fine."

Still Peeta struggled against their grip. Helplessly, he watched her two escorts pick her up roughly by the arms and start to drag her away. That's when he saw it. The feathered end of a dart sticking out of her bare shoulder. It took him a second to process what that meant.

He stopped squirming and his friends let him go. "Wait!" The escorts ignored him; the rest of the room, however, were paying close attention. Peeta started after them, shrugging off Cinna and Haymitch who simply glanced at each other before following suit. "Wait!"

This time the escorts turned. "What?" The first one snapped.

"Where are you taking her?"

"To her cage. Where she belongs." He sneered, voice dripping with cruel sarcasm.

"No." Peeta replied firmly, anger boiling. "She's coming with me. With us to our apartment."

An exasperated sigh escaped the escort. "Listen kid, I don't care who you are, but we have our orders. She's going back –"

"Oh for pity's sake," another voice boomed. Everyone turned to look, and were surprised to see Plutarch making his way through the crowd. "Let the boy take her. If he wants that responsibility on his shoulders, let him. I'll take the blame for this one if there's a problem. Which," he gave Peeta, Haymitch, and Cinna a knowing look, "I know there won't be."

The two men holding Rayne up between them shrugged, and released their grip on her. She fell with a thud to the floor before Peeta could catch her. He winced at the sound, then went over to her. Gently, he pulled out the dart and threw it across the floor in disgust. Brushing the loose tendrils of hair from her face, he was alarmed to see how gaunt she was. Had she been eating? With great care, he lifted up her light body and carried her out of the room in his arms.

Everyone was privy to this tender moment between the two. They wondered how this boy from District 12 could have such great love - shown in his eyes and touch - for a girl who was a savage. They wondered silently to themselves for a moment. Then they wondered aloud between themselves.

Plutarch pulled Haymitch and Cinna aside to talk privately. Katniss and Effie were still near the chariot. Slowly, Katniss asked, "what just happened? Who is that?"

Effie's mind raced back to just that morning. The sketch of a girl, the one Peeta drew. The one he said was just a friend back home. The one she called plain. Effie knew this was the girl. Clearly, not from his home in District 12. And no longer plain. Effie turned to Katniss, and tried to put on her brightest smile, "Looks like we have a new roommate. I hope she minds her manners . . ."

Meanwhile, Peeta carried Rayne down the hallway to the elevator. From the elevator to the apartment. Once in the apartment, he made a beeline for his room. There was no doubt in his mind, that was where she would be staying. That was where she belonged. As he lay her on the bed, he thought she looked like a princess from a fairytale. Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White. Asleep until true love's first kiss. Then it was just another page before the happy ending.

Except this was not a fairy tale. Hesitantly and unsure, he leaned over her, kissed her forehead. She never even stirred. All the better for her to sleep. Because it was only dreams that had happy endings. Soon enough, she would wake up and face cruel reality.

"This time though," Peeta whispered, kneeling down on the floor next to the bed. "It'll be different. I'll be here for you." He held her hand, felt it's familiar shape and roughness. Felt the strength that lay underneath the skin. "I will protect you. Always."


	30. Chapter 30: Reunion

Chapter 30

Rayne had the most wonderful dream. She was back in the forest, lying in bed on a lazy, rainy afternoon. A smile played on her lips; she started to hum softly to herself. Peeta was lying next to her, dozing lightly. She shifted. Reflexively, Peeta gave a light moan and tightened the grip he had on her, pulling her body so close, so flush, to his own, it was as if they were one. Drowsy, blissfully content, her eye lids grew heavy. She fell asleep, that smile still tugging at her lips.

Her eyes closed in the dream world, and opened in the real one. Her body was heavy and sluggish, screaming with pain. Her limbs and brain were slow to react, even after she realized she had no idea where she was. Fighting the panic clawing at her chest, she tried to focus her attention on something – anything.

It chose to focus on the heavy weight around her. the familiar warmth around her waist. Slowly, her other senses started to kick in, shaking off the last remaining effects of tranquilizer. The rhythmic sound of breathing next to her. even his scent, triggering a thousand memories and emotions. And he held her so closely, she could feel his heart beat. How could she forget him, and all these little details surrounding him?

The clearer her head became, the more she noticed. And the first thing she noticed, was the forest. It was different from back home: more dense and lush. It was darker: sunlight had a harder time filtering through the canopy. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to pick up the smells of the woods. But all that filled her nostrils was Peeta.

Peeta. Rayne's body and mind jerked wide awake, sitting her upright, turning to see Peeta now lying on his back. He was awake, and offered her an unsure smile. Putting his hands behind his head in feigned self assurance, he said, "I thought that's what you would want. For the forest to be the first thing you saw when you woke."

Rayne sat, still as stone. Her mind was racing, yet it remained blank. So she just watched, as Peeta sat up across from her. He leaned in close, reaching out to touch her face. instinctively, she jerked violently back. Peeta paused, bit his lip, then even more slowly, reached out and cupped her face in his hands. He traced his fingers over her new face, trying to reconcile his memory of her before to the features he now saw. Her now honey eyes burned brightly and clearly, etching themselves onto his memory.

A wave of sadness overtook him. "Oh Rayne . . . what did they do to you?"

Again she drew back, tilting her head away to let her disheveled hair hide her face. "Don't . . . don't touch me," she whispered fiercely. her voice sounded thick and broken, a trail of noise escaping her parched throat.

A frown of concern formed on Peeta's brow. "Why, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Rayne shook her head and sighed. "They changed me Peeta. I'm . . . I guess I'm not used to it yet. I mean, there's nothing I can do about it now . . ."

"Never mind that Rayne. But it does work to your advantage."

"How?" She snapped to attention, golden eyes smouldering with anger. "Making me feminine? Making me beautiful?"

The effect of her startled Peeta momentarily. A surprised look crossed his face, but his tone softened in an effort to set her at ease. If there was one thing he knew, that was how to handle Rayne's tempers. "You were always beautiful to me." he watched as his words took effect: disbelief. That's how he knew he could continue. He smiled and cocked his head, "but it does make you more . . . intimidating. If that were even possible."

"But I'm in a dress."

"So? You commanded the parade last night. Even if you were wearing a paper bag, all eyes would have been on you. And here . . . that's not such a bad thing."

Rayne mulled it over. "So . . . you think I'm beautiful?"

"I always have."

At that, Rayne threw her arms around Peeta, hugging him tightly. She wanted to be so close to him, it would be as if they were one person. To just crawl inside him and stay there. That was when she felt safest: when he was right next to her. Peeta, taken aback by her speed, soon responded in kind by pulling her into him even closer.

"Peeta . . ." her voice took on a broken quality as she tried to speak through the various emotions rising in her chest, "I thought . . . you . . . I didn't know . . .if I did . . . I'd have come . . ."

"Hey, it's okay. We're together now. And right now, that's all that matters."

Tears threatened to spill. Conflicting emotions tore through her. Joy: for having Peeta again, for seeing his concern over her so evident, that he knew her so well. Grief: for everything that they had done together in the past, for the present that could not last, and for what the future lay out for them in the Quarter Quell.

Peeta held onto as if she were made of water and at any moment, would slip away from her. "I'm so sorry Rayne. I tried . . . I tried so hard to protect you that day on the farm. I didn't think my plan would backfire so badly. . ."

"It's not your fault," Rayne took a deep, steadying breath. Once she was sure she seemed outwardly composed, she released Peeta from her grip. "It's mine."

"No, Rayne, stop that –"

"If I didn't start fighting with you . . . if I hadn't tried to push you away . . ."

"Rayne . . ."

A pained, distant look filled her eyes. "If I had just let you in . . ."

"Hey, hey, look at me." Peeta cupped her face again, forcing her to focus on him. A worried crease crossed his forehead. This was not the Rayne he knew. He had to pull her out before she was lost in herself. "Listen to me Rayne. It is nobody's fault. Not yours, not mine. No one's."

"If only I had let you . . ." Rayne blinked slowly, reached out and touched his face. He watched as her thumbs and eyes traced the lines of his eyes, nose, and finally lips. Peeta held his breath, confused by this change in Rayne, but at the same time, terrified that it would end.

Rayne's eye caught the slightest movement in the doorway. Just like that, the moment was gone. Peeta saw the change in her expression, from dreamy eyed to that intense look she always had when her defenses were up. before he knew what happened, Rayne pushed him behind her. springing up into a crouch, she blocked Peeta with her body.

Peeta glanced up over her arm, to see Haymitch leaning against the wall, an amused look on his face. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Haymitch!" Peeta exclaimed.

Rayne eyed Haymitch suspiciously. He returned the look and studied her carefully. "That dress seems mighty uncomfortable sweetheart. Cinna's grabbing you something to change into."

Her expression softened at the mention of Cinna, but her eyes grew steely cold. "Call me that again and I'll cut out your tongue."

A bemused smile formed on Haymitch's face. Tilting his head and putting his hand in his pocket, he replied, "There is not a doubt in my mind that you will."

"Ok you two," struggling for a moment, Peeta finally got off the tangled bed and stood, hands on hips. Glancing between Haymitch and Rayne, he ran his fingers through his hair. "Rayne, it's ok. This is Haymitch. He's my mentor, from my district. Haymitch, this is Rayne. She –"

"Is the last Districtless. Yes, I know. In fact, all of Panem knows."

During the introductions, Rayne gathered up the skirt of her dress and got off the bed. She still was on the defense, placing herself slightly in front of Peeta to protect him. When Haymitch started talking about her, she threw her head up arrogantly. "So? What does it matter?"

"Oh it matters. A lot. Even if you can't see it."

"But it doesn't change anything." Peeta interrupted, shooting Rayne a warning look telling her not to argue for the time being. "We're still here."

"It changes everything," Haymitch snapped angrily, taking a step toward them.

Rayne put herself wholly in front of Peeta and gave a low grunt. "Don't take another step."

"Rayne, its fine. He doesn't mean anything." Peeta pleaded. He knew where this was headed.

"What? Like this?"

Haymitch barely raised his foot off the ground. Next thing he knew, he was pinned against the wall. One of the metal hair pins from her up-do was pressed against his throat. He knew she would react quickly; he just had not realized how fast. Though totally prepared for her attack – he had invited it, hadn't he? - he was still caught off guard by the blinding speed of which it happened. All he could say was, "Looks like I underestimated you."

A half-scream sounded from the door. Everyone jumped out of their skins and turned to look. Effie and Cinna were standing in the doorway. Effie stared at the scene, paler than usual, then started shaking. Cinna just smiled and shook his head. In his hands, a change of clothes that, at the moment, looked more like a peace offering. "Oh Rayne."

Peeta cleared his throat before going up to Rayne and gently guiding her away from the growing crowd. "Give me the pin." She placed it on his open palm begrudgingly, casting wary glances between Haymitch and Effie. "You know Cinna already. And this is Effie."

A bewildered look crossed Rayne's face. "Why are you pink?"

Effie opened her mouth, speechless. Finally, one word escaped. "Manners!"

"What?"

"Shame on you! Where are your manners?" She tottered over to Rayne, who for once, did not know what to make of the situation, and slowly started to hide behind Peeta. "Ladies do not behave like that! Maybe whatever swamp or jungle you came from, that was okay. But here, that is unacceptable!"

"Effie," Haymitch put a hand on her shoulder. "Give it a rest. For once."

She opened her mouth to argue, but one glance around at all their faces made her clamp it closed. Lips pursed, she gave a dramatic sigh. "Cinna. Clothes." Cinna shot Rayne an apologetic look as he handed over the set to Effie, who in turn, shooed the men out of the room. "Go, go. We haven't got all day. That means you too Peeta."

Peeta turned to Rayne and smiled easily. "Don't worry about Effie." Rayne raised an eyebrow, giving him a look of doubt. Chuckling, he twirled a loose strand of hair around his finger before tucking it behind her ear. "You'll be fine. Just go easy on her. I'll be back."

While Effie helped Rayne change, Haymitch called Peeta over to his room. Surprisingly, it was not nearly as messy as Peeta thought it would be. The door shut behind them.

"You shouldn't have brought her here," Haymitch shook his head and strode over to the other side of the room.

Caught off guard, Peeta replied, "Well it's not like I had much choice." This was not the direction he thought the conversation would go.

"You did. now you don't." Haymitch's hand hovered over a bottle filled with amber coloured alcohol. Peeta waited, to see what he would do. With a sigh, Haymitch curled the outstretched hand into a fist and walked away, settling down in a nearby armchair. "This affects all of us Peeta."

"What was I supposed to do? Let them take her away!?"

"You should have talked to us first Peeta. having her here . . . like I said, this changes things."

"Well you're the mentor. Have you figured out your plan yet?"

"I'm ironing out the details kid." Haymitch's voice grew harsher. "For now, stick close to Katniss."

Peeta's brow furrowed, "What about Rayne?"

"She seems capable of taking care of herself."

Shaking his head, Peeta protested, "No. we protect each other."

An amused look crossed Haymitch's face. "Seems to me you said something similar last year about Katniss." Haymitch recognized the stubborn look Peeta now wore. His expression sobered. "Listen, I'm still working on a plan. And right now, I think it would be best if you were with Katniss. Just . . . don't worry about your friend."

"And I'm telling you now, there is no way that is happening."

"Peeta . . ."

"Rayne and I, we are a team. You can't just split us up. Nobody should even try."

Haymitch cleared his throat, a warning. He glanced up at the ceiling, but Peeta ignored it and continued his heated argument. "I left her once before. I thought I was doing the right thing. Just look where that got us!" at this point, he was fairly shouting. Gesturing wildly at the room around him, he repeated himself, "I left her once, and look where we are now! I promised myself – and her – that would never happen. Never again!"

"Peeta! Shut up!"

"We're better together. Nothing can stop us when we're together! Not you, not Peacekeepers, and not the arena!"

"Shhh!" Haymitch leapt from his seat, cupping his hands over Peeta's mouth. "Now you've done it!" He hissed in Peeta's ear.

"What?" Peeta's muffled question.

Glancing up at the ceiling again, Haymitch whispered, "they're listening. They're always listening here. And now they know this team's weakness."

Peeta shrugged Haymitch off and whispered in reply, "What weakness?"

"You and your friend. Together, you are both your greatest strength. But you are both your greatest weaknesses as well." Another sigh escaped him, "And now they know. They will use you against each other, make no mistake about that."

A chill went up Peeta's spine. "How?"

"In ways only you two know how."


End file.
